52 FRUIT RANCHING. 



seeing ihcy were travelling steadil\- ihroiigh the 

 woods, I returned home, to continue at four a.m. my 

 night's interrupted repose. 



But this was a Sunday, and for some reason the 

 Fates had decreed my Sundays should be marked by 

 unsought adventure and excitement. About an 

 hour before noon Maggie put her head into the room 

 in which I was sitting, to tell me that the yard was 

 again full of " cows." 



" Where are Calaby and Leslie and the rest? " I 

 cried. I had had enough of the early delights of 

 cow-punching for one day. 



"I don't know^" said Maggie; "I think they 

 have gone down to the pow'er house. I don't see 

 them anywhere about." 



Accordingly, in spite of myself, I had to have all 

 the fun alone. And fun it was! Fun that drove 

 me distracted. I managed to meet the marauders 

 before they got well within the precincts of the yard, 

 and turned them back. So far, so good. But 

 instead of proceeding, as they had done on the first 

 occasion, seven or eight hours before, in a compact 

 body straight back by the path by which they had 

 come, they scattered over the hillside, and made for 

 the cultivated land on the bench above, where, in one 

 direction, we had peas, carrots, potatoes, turnips, 

 savoys, brussels sprouts, and other vegetables grow- 

 ing, and in the opposite direction tomatoes, carrots, 

 and clover. True, both " fields " were fenced round; 

 but along the edge of the bench, where the beasts 

 would first come into contact with it, the fence was, 

 unfortunately, weakest, consisting in part of barbed 

 wire; in part of slim horizontal poles nailed to slight 



