46 Soiling. 



more exhausting than a hard day's work after the 

 plow or in the harvest field, and that had to be done 

 besides. One day I was called from home, and 

 when I returned, I asked my man if he had finished 

 a certain piece of work I was particularly anxious to 

 have accomplished that day. " Xo, sir. The cattle 

 got out, and it took me nearly all the forenoon to 

 get them back again and mend the fence." "Did 

 you deliver the butter to the station this afternoon, 

 as I told you?" " Xo, sir. Just as I was starting 

 for the station, tlie cattle broke out again, and be- 

 . fore I could get them back it was too late to get to 

 the train." That was the last straw. He told how 

 he had chased the unruly brutes through the corn, 

 in langTiage that cannot be printed. 



I was pleased, however, to hear him express my 

 own sentiments so forcibly. " I can't stay here, sir, 

 if this thing goes on much longer." " I don't blame 

 you, Pat," I replied. " I have a notion to quit my- 

 self, but I can't spare you. There would be no one 

 here to speak of the brutes as they deserve if you 

 should go. Shut them in the barnyard at once, and 

 feed them hay until we can cut some clover. We 

 will rig up the mower and feed them green clover 

 in the barnyard. They will not jump that eight- 

 foot barnyard fence, will they, do you think? " 

 "Sure, you will have to lock up the ladder," said 

 Pat, whose ready tongue never forsook him, "or 

 the)"^ will be climbing over it. " Thus we began soil- 

 ing. 



For a few days the cows were restless and home- 



