Jathrop Lathrop was just the style and build of young man to be easily persuaded into taking a kicking cow in full payment of a good debt. Jathrop having taken the cow, it naturally fell to the lot of his mother to milk her. The reader can quickly divine what event formed the third of these easily to be foreseen developments of the most eventful day in the life of the cow’s new proprietor. The kicking cow kicked Jathrop Lathrop’s mother, not out of any especial antipathy towards that most innocuous lady, but just because it was of a kicking nature and Mrs. Lathrop was temptingly kickable. The sad part of the matter was that Mrs. Lathrop was not only kickable but breakable as well. It followed that at twelve o’clock that noon Miss Clegg, returning from a hasty trip to the city, was greeted at the depot by the sad tidings, and it was not until various of the town folk had finished their versions of the disaster that she was at last allowed to hasten to the bedside of her dear friend, whom she found not only in great bodily distress but also already cast in plaster.

Miss Clegg’s attitude as she stood in the doorway was one of blended commiseration and disgust.

“Well, I never would ‘a’ believed it o’ Jathrop!” she burst forth at last.

“’T wa’n’t Jathrop,” Mrs. Lathrop protested feebly; “it was the-”

“I know, but the cow never come of her own free will, ‘n’ it strikes me ’t Jathrop’s the one to blame. I never was so done up in my life ’s I was when I hear this about you. You kin believe me or not jus’ ’s you please, Mrs. Lathrop, but I was so nigh to struck dead ’t I stopped short with one leg on the station ‘n’ the other on the train. It was Johnny ‘s dodged out o’ the ticket-office to tell me the minute the train stopped, ‘n’ I d’n’ know but I’d be there yet-f’r I was clean struck all in a heap-only a man jus’ behind jammed me with a case o’ beer ‘t he was bringin’ home. To think ‘s I see you goin’ to the barn jus’ ‘s I was lookin’ f’r a place to hide my keys afore leavin’, ‘n’ then to think ’s them was your last legs ‘n’ you usin’ ’em ’s innocent ’s a grasshopper on a May mornin’!-I tell you I was so used up I thought some o’ askin’ to be druv up here, but Johnny didn’t have no time to give pertickilers ’cause the telegraph begin to work jus’ at that very minute ‘n’ he had to dodge back to see what they wanted to tick him about, so I see ’t the wisest thing was to walk up ‘n’ find out f’r myself. Besides, you c’n understand ’t if you was beyond hope I’d be nothin’ but foolish to pay a quarter to get to you in a hurry, ‘n’ I never was one to be foolish nor yet to waste quarters, ‘n’ so I come along through town, ‘n’ as a consequence I guess ’t I know ’s much ’s you know yourself now.”

Mrs. Lathrop looking duly inquisitive for details of her own accident, Miss Clegg advanced forthwith upon a seat and occupied it before beginning.

“I see Mrs. Macy first, ‘n’ she told me all as to how it happened. She says you turned two back somersaults ‘n’ just missed squashin’ the cat, ‘n’ ’t young Dr. Brown told her ’t if he hadn’t been so busy plantin’ his garden to-day he certainly would ‘a’ felt ’t it ’d ‘a’ been nothin’ but right to diagnose you all over. Mrs. Macy says she ain’t none too over-pleased ‘t the way he spoke, for, to her order o’ thinkin’, you had a pretty serious kick ‘n’ you’d ought to realize it. She wanted me to ask you ’f he had you hang to the head-board while he give your leg a good hard jerk, ’cause she says ’t that’s the only real safe way to make all the bones come back into place; she says ’f you ain’t shattered you’re bound to come straight pervided the doctor jerks hard enough. She says they did her lame leg that way over thirty years ago, ‘n’ she says ‘t, sittin’ down ‘n’ side by side, she’d bet anything ’t the minister ‘n’ all the deacons couldn’t pick out one from t’ other. She says all her trouble comes when she walks. Nights ‘n’ rockin’ she’d never know she was lame herself.”

Mrs. Lathrop looked slightly distressed.

“Gran’ma Mullins come up while we was talkin’, ‘n’ she’s terrible upset over you. She never had no lameness, she says; her trouble ’s all in her ribs,-them ribs ’t go from under your arms down. But she wants to know if you was put in plaster, ‘n’ she said f’r me to ask right off.”

“Yes; I-” replied Mrs. Lathrop.

“Oh!” Susan’s face darkened. “I declare, that’s too bad. ‘N’ young Dr. Brown ’s gone now too. I see him ‘n’ Amelia drivin’ out towards the Sperrits’ while I was in the square. Well, if it’s on, it’s on, ‘n’ the Lord be with you, Mrs. Lathrop, f’r ’f Gran’ma Mullins says truth, no one else c’n help you now. You see, she told Mrs. Macy ‘n’ me what plaster is. It’s eatin’, that’s what it is. Plaster ‘ll eat anythin’ right up, hide, hair, ‘n’ all. She says don’t you know how, when you smell a dead rat in the wall, you throw some plaster in on him, ‘n’ after a while you don’t smell no more rat ’cause there ain’t no more rat there to smell; the plaster ’s eat him all up. She says you may laugh ’f you feel so inclined, but there ain’t no such big difference between your leg ‘n’ a dead rat but what it’ll pay you to mark her words. She says ’f it don’t do no more ’n eat the skin off it’ll still be pretty hard for you to lay there without no skin ‘n’ feel the plaster goin’ in more ‘n’ more. She says ’t we all wish him well, ‘n’ yet no one in their right mind c’n deny as young Dr. Brown is n’t old Dr. Carter, ‘n’ no amount o’ well wishin’ c’n ever make him so. She says ’f she was you she ’d never rest till old Dr. Carter ’d looked into that leg, f’r a leg is a leg, ‘n’ it says in the Bible ’t if you lose your salt what ’ll you salt with.”

Mrs. Lathrop’s distress deepened visibly.

“I tell you I was more ’n a little troubled over her words. Gran’ma Mullins ain’t one to make up nothin’, ‘n’ I know myself ’t that ’s true about the plaster. I ’ve eat up rats that way time ‘n’ again,-mice too, f’r that matter. It ’d be an awful thing f’r you to lay there peaceful ‘n’ happy till it come time f’r him to unwrap your leg ‘n’ then when he unwrapped have him find no leg in the centre. Nothin’ ’t he could say would help any-there you ’d be one leg gone forever. ’F it was your foot, it ’d all be different, f’r you could hop around right spry with a false foot, but I d’n’ know what good your foot ‘ll do you with the leg in between gone. I never hear o’ no real foot on a false leg, ‘n’ ’f I was you, I certainly wouldn’t want to lay wonderin’ ’f I still had two legs f’r six weeks.”

“Six weeks!” cried Mrs. Lathrop, with a start that collapsed at once into a groan; “must I lay-”

“Gran’ma Mullins says,” pursued Susan, “’t the reason she knows so much about it all is ’t she had a cousin with a broken leg once. It wa’n’t no cow ‘s kicked him, jus’ he was give to meditatin’, ‘n’ while meditatin’ durin’ house-cleanin’ he stepped down the wrong side o’ the step-ladder. She says the doctor didn’t so much ‘s dream o’ plasterin’ him up, he put splints on him, ‘n’ he come out fine, but she says he was suthin’ jus’ awful to take care of. They thought they couldn’t stand it the first weeks he was so terrible cross, but then his bones begin to knit, ‘n’ she says she hopes she may fall dead then ‘n’ there ‘f she ever hear anythin’ to equal that leg-knittin’. She said they was livin’ so far out ’t they could feel to leave him ‘n’ go to church Sunday, ‘n’ she says when they was comin’ back they could hear him knittin’ a good half-mile away.”

“Dear, dear-” commented Mrs. Lathrop, giving a heave of unrest.

“Can you feel your leg now?” Susan inquired.

“Yes; I-”

“Then it ‘s all right so far, but, my! you mus’ n’t begin gettin’ restless this soon. You ain’t been kicked six hours yet, ‘n’ you ’ve got to lay that same way f’r six weeks. After a while it’ll be pretty bad, I expeck, but you ain’t got nothin’ to complain of to-day. I see the minister just after I left Mrs. Macy, ‘n’ he said you must say to yourself, ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof’ ‘n’ get along the best you can. I c’d see he was some put out over your gettin’ a cow, f’r he c’d n’t but understand ’t with a cow over the fence I was n’t goin’ to be takin’ milk from over the crick. He said ‘t your bein’ kicked was a judgment ‘n’ the sins o’ the parents should be visited on the children even unto the third ‘n’ fourth generation. I did n’t know whose sins he was meanin’, the cow’s or Jathrop’s, but I did n’t ask. I guess we ’d ought to make allowances f’r the minister,-he ain’t seemed to ever be able to bear up under them twins. He was pushin’ ’em in the carriage to-day ‘n’ drawin’ little Jane after him in a express wagon. I asked him how his wife was, ‘n’ he said she’s doin’ nicely, only she can’t decide what to name the baby. He walked with me a piece; it seemed to do him good to speak out frank ‘n’ open, ‘n’ I guess he sees more ‘n’ more what a mistake he’s made; he couldn’t but see it, I sh’d suppose, f’r his wife ’s had four children in three years, ‘n’ I didn’t even adopt one. It’s that four-in-three-years business ’t seems to ‘a’ used him up the most. He says he never even had a idea ’t it could be done. He says his first wife was so different, ‘n’ he says it’s just been shock after shock, ‘n’ two shocks when the twins come. Little Jane caught her dress in a wheel while we was talkin’, ‘n’ we had to turn her ‘n’ the express-wagon both upside down ’t once afore we could unwind it, ‘n’ while we was doin’ that, one o’ the twins fell out o’ the carriage. The minister says he don’t thank no man to talk race-suicide when he’s aroun’; he says his blood runs cold to think what his family ’ll be at his silver weddin’. I tell you, Mrs. Lathrop, I will own ’t I’ve always felt some sore at the minister on a’count o’ his not marryin’ me, but ’f I ever desired any species o’ revenge I certainly ’d be hard to please ’f I didn’t get it to-day when I see him with twins ahead ‘n’ little Jane behind ‘n’ nine at home.”

Mrs. Lathrop sighed.

“That reminds me o’ what I come over to ask you,” said Susan. “Have you had any dinner?”

“No; I-”

“Then I’ll fix you some when I cook mine. I c’n call Jathrop ‘n’ have him bring it over when it’s ready. I see him in the yard when I come by; he was peekin’ in at the cow. I ain’t never had no great opinion o’ Jathrop, but I guess he c’n carry a tray. ‘N’ now afore I leave you, Mrs. Lathrop, I will say jus’ once more ’s my advice is f’r you to keep a sharp eye on your leg, ‘n’ if it feels anyway like you can’t feel nothin’ I’d have that plaster off in a jiffy. How’s it put on? Round ‘n’ roun’?”

“He’s sent for the windin’,” said Mrs. Lathrop weakly; “it’s jus’ got some plaster ‘n’ a long piece o’ tore sheet.”

Susan moved towards the door.

“It beats me what ever made you go near the hind end o’ that cow for,” she remarked, pausing on the threshold. “Don’t you know as it ’s the hind end ‘s always does the kickin’? The front end can’t do nothin’-’nless it gores. Does she gore?”

“Oh, I d’n’ know,” wailed poor Mrs. Lathrop.

“I ’m goin’,” said Miss Clegg, turning her back as she spoke. “You jus’ lay still now ‘n’ think o’ pleasant things. Nothin’ else can’t happen to you ’nless the house catches fire.”

Then she went out and away.

It was late in the afternoon that Susan entered next door on her second visitation of mercy.

“Did you like your dinner?” she inquired, as she brought a rocker to where it would command a fine view of the bed and its occupant.

“Dinner! I ain’t had no-”

Miss Clegg screamed.

“Ain’t had no dinner! Why, I give it to Jathrop with my own hands. Everythin’ hot, ‘n’ the whole tucked up nice in the cloth ’t I put over the bird-cage nights. I made the tea awful strong so ’s to keep up your strength, ‘n’ there was a scramble o’ eggs, ‘n’ one was fresh, I know. Whatever c’n he have done with it, do you suppose?”

“Maybe he ate-” Mrs. Lathrop began.

Her friend chopped her off with a second scream.

“Ate it!-Jathrop Lathrop!-Do you mean to tell me ’t I’ve been stewin’ myself to feed Jathrop Lathrop! ‘N’ that good egg too. ‘N’ all my tea. I declare, but I am aggravated. The fire ’s out now ‘n’ everythin’ ’s put away or I’d go ‘n’ cook you suthin’ else, but I’d never trust that young man to carry it over.”

“I ain’t hun-” said Mrs. Lathrop.

“It’s certainly your good luck ‘f you ain’t. But to think o’ him havin’ the face to eat up your dinner! But he’s got the face fr anythin’. ‘F it wasn’t f’r hurtin’ your feelin’s, Mrs. Lathrop, I’d jus’ up ‘n’ tell you ‘t, to my order o’ thinkin’, Jathrop always did look more like a frog ’n he did like his own father, ‘n’ I’ll take my Bible oath ’t I’ve told Mrs. Macy that a hunderd times. She says ’t he ain’t active enough to remind her o’ no frog, but she always owns up ’t his eyes ‘n’ mouth is like one. ‘F I was talkin’ to any one but you, I’d say, spot him with green ‘n’ he could make you a nice livin’ alongside o’ the dog-faced boy in a Dime Museum,-’n’ never need to move. As a family, you ain’t very lively anyhow, ‘n’ I ain’t much surprised ’t the cow ‘s gettin’ out o’ patience. She’s been trampin’ aroun’ ‘n’ mooin’ a lot this last hour. The minister was walkin’ by with six o’ the childern, ‘n’ the childern come ‘n’ asked ’f they could see the cow ’t kicked you. I didn’t see no good reason why not, so we boosted ’em all up so ‘s they’d have a good view o’ her through the little window. The minister quoted ‘Wild bulls o’ Bashan’ ‘n’ ’Muzzle not the ox ‘t treadeth out the corn,’ ‘n’ I felt like askin’ him ’f he didn’t know a cow when he see one. She looked cross enough for any Bible talk, though, ‘n’ Rachel Rebecca was awful scared ‘n’ they all begin to cry. I took ’em into my kitchen ‘n’ give ’em a cooky apiece, ‘n’ that smoothed ’em out. The minister was real pleased; he quoted ‘Even as ye did it unto the least o’ these, ye did it unto me,’ so I took the hint ‘n’ give him a cooky too. They was goin’ up to Mrs. Brown’s to tea. I must say she ‘s pretty good to have six o’ ’em all to once.”

Mrs. Lathrop twisted wearily.

“C’n you feel your leg?” her friend asked anxiously.

“Yes, I c’n feel-”

“Mrs. Macy was up this afternoon. She says she ’s more ‘n’ more worried over you. She says it is n’t as she don’t wish young Dr. Brown well, ‘n’ she ‘s intendin’ to call him in sometime herself when she knows jus’ what ’s the matter with her ‘n’ jus’ what she ’d ought to take for it, but she says ’t in your circumstances there ain’t a mite o’ doubt but what you ’d ought to have old Dr. Carter ’s fast ’s he could be raked over here from Meadville. She says legs is scarce birds, ‘n’ you can’t go lavishin’ one on every young man ’s is anxious to build up a practice on you. She says how do you know ’s it ’s a clean break ’s you’ve got there anyhow? Maybe it ’s a fracture. A fracture ’s when the bone splinters all to pieces ‘n’ fans out every way inside o’ your leg. O’ course young Dr. Brown ain’t got beyond clean breaks yet, ‘n’ if you’re splintered in place o’ bein’ clean you don’t want him to learn the difference at your cost. If you lose your leg, Mrs. Lathrop, it certainly will be a awful thing for you. A woman can’t ever say ’s she was a brakeman or in the war, ‘n’ them ’s the only good excuses ’s can be give. Then, too, if you have a wooden leg ‘n’ the wind catches you at it, it’ll take you in a way ’s ’ll make you look more like a scarecrow ’n a Christian. Mrs. Macy says ’t she was speakin’ to Mr. Kimball about you, ‘n’ he was nigh to serious f’r once in his life. She says he says ‘t they take the hair off o’ horse-hides with plaster ‘n’ that wooden legs is very hard to get comfortable. I s’pose the long ‘n’ short of it would be ’t I’d have to come over every mornin’ ‘n’ hook it on to you,-’f it was left to Jathrop he’d probably have you half o’ the time with your toes pointin’ back ‘n’ your heel in front. C’n you feel it now?”

“Yes; I-”

“Then it’s still there, but, Lord! how that cow does kick ‘n’ pull ‘n’ moo! Why don’t Jathrop do suthin’ to her? She’d ought to be tended to. When you come right square down to it, she ain’t no more to blame f’r kickin’ you ‘n’ he is f’r lookin’ like a frog. They was each made so. But even then she’d ought to be milked jus’ the same, ‘n’ Jathrop ’d ought to be settin’ at it.”

“I don’t want-”

“It’s got to be him or me or the butcher, ‘n’ I must say I don’t see no good ‘n’ sufficient reason why it should be me. I didn’t have Jathrop, nor yet the cow, ‘n’ I don’t see why I sh’d lay myself open to bein’ snapped off any where, jus’ because your son ’s half a fool-the head half.”

Mrs. Lathrop groaned.

“Now there ain’t no use in that” said Susan firmly; “lots o’ things might be worse ’n they are. She might ‘a’ broken both your legs, or she may break both his when he tries to milk her to-night. You must look on the bright side, Mrs. Lathrop, ‘n’ not twist aroun’ like you’d been in bed four weeks ‘n’ only had two more ahead o’ you. The whole six is ahead now, ‘n’ instid o’ wrigglin’ ‘n’ sighin’, you’d ought to think how good it is as I’m here to take care o’ you. I must say ’t, to my order o’ thinkin’, your leg is goin’ to be pretty nigh ’s hard on me ’s on you. ’F I can’t trust Jathrop to so much ’s carry a tray after I’ve been to all the bother o’ cookin’ it, it stands to reason ‘s I must be kitin’ with ’em all day long. I’m very friendly with you, Mrs. Lathrop, ‘n’ whether single or two-legged I’d never but wish you well; still, I am a rich woman, ‘n’ bein’ a rich woman, it does seem kind o’ hard for me to have to slave back ‘n’ forth over the fence for six weeks; but, such bein’ the case, it strikes me ’t, of us two, you certainly ain’t the one ’s ‘d ought to be doin’ the groanin’.”

Mrs. Lathrop appeared contrite and dumb.

“I guess I’ll go ‘n’ get supper now,” said her visitor, rising; “when it’s got I’ll bring you over some. I ain’t goin’ to trust Jathrop with nothin’ again, I know. To think o’ his eatin’ your dinner! I must say, Mrs. Lathrop, ’t if you was cut out to be a mother, it certainly seems a pity ’t you never got beyond Jathrop, for no one ’s ever see him could believe it of you. However, I don’t suppose ’s any one in their senses could blame you f’r stoppin’ right off short when you see what you ’d gone ‘n’ done the first time.”

Mrs. Lathrop made no attempt to reply. Miss Clegg left the room, and returned not until she came with the supper.

“I did n’t see Jathrop nowhere,” she announced as she entered, “but the cow ‘s goin’ on jus’ awful.”

“Jathrop ’s gone for the-”

“Well, I am glad. The butcher ’s the only one ’s ’d ought to go near her. I persume I c’d ‘a’ milked her, ‘n’ ’f she ’d been my cow I w’d ‘a’ milked her, but bein’ ’s she wa’n’t mine I did n’t see no good ‘n’ sufficient reason why I sh’d so much ’s take a interest in her. I will own ’t I did sorter ache to see her kick Jathrop into kingdom come, but the chances are ’t he’d ‘a’ come out alive, ‘n’ so it would n’t ‘a’ paid in the end. I ‘ll be glad to hear her stop mooin’, though. I was sick o’ the noise afore she begun, ‘n’ she ‘s kep’ right on ever since.”

Mrs. Lathrop ate a little and drank a little, looking blandly non-committal as she did so. Miss Clegg rocked vigorously.

“I can’t get that plaster out o’ my head,” she continued presently. “I wonder if it won’t give you rheumatism anyhow. Deacon White got rheumatism from movin’ into a house where the plaster was damp, ‘n’ it stands to reason it’d be worse yet if it’s tied right tight to you. I must say ’t I agree with Mrs. Macy; I think you’d ought to have old Dr. Carter. O’ course it’ll cost suthin’ to have him over from Meadville, but it’ll cost you a sight more to have a wooden leg up from the city. There ain’t no sense in tryin’ to save money over a kick, Mrs. Lathrop, ‘n’ what’s the good o’ your economizin’ all these years ’f you can’t indulge yourself a little when you want to? That’s what Mr. Shores said to me-jus’ them very self-same words-when he wanted to sell me that fancy green ‘n’ yellow parasol ’s he had up f’r Easter. I didn’t want no parasol, though; it had a pointed-nose dog f’r a handle, ‘n’ I didn’t fancy myself goin’ to church hangin’ on to a dog’s nose, even ’f it was silver-plated. I ain’t no great admirer o’ green ‘n’ yellow, neither, ‘n’ so I told him flat ‘n’ plain ’t I wa’n’t through my economizin’ years yet. He sold the parasol to Mrs. Jilkins, ‘n’ she let it down on her thumb ‘n’ come nigh to breakin’ her thumb. She says she won’t carry no parasol ’s she can’t shut down without riskin’ her thumb ‘n’ she ‘s goin’ to give it to her niece over to Meadville. She says her niece is awful womans-rightsy, ‘n’ can swing dumb-bells ‘n’ look over backward ’t her own heels, ‘n’ that parasol ‘ll be nothin’ but child’s play to her. I ain’t no sympathy with such views myself-I never was one as believed overmuch in womans’ rights. My idea is to let the men have the rights, ‘n’ then they’re satisfied to let you do ’s you please. ’S far ’s my observa-Lord have mercy on us!”

The cause of the abrupt termination of Miss Clegg’s speech was a sudden crashing back of the house, followed by a rush and a swish at the side. The friendly visitor made one jump for the window, took one look out, and was off and away. The door slammed before Mrs. Lathrop got her mouth open to ask what was the matter. She called, but no answer came. Then she waited, and waited some more, and finally grew weary in her waiting and fell asleep.

She slept long and dreamlessly. It was well after seven when the noise of footsteps awakened her.

It was Susan. Having left the tray behind in her mad flight of the night before, she had come over with the teapot in one hand and a plate of toast in the other. But it was not the breakfast which attracted Mrs. Lathrop’s attention, it was the expression of her neighbor’s face. Tidings of vast importance were deeply imprinted there, and when Miss Clegg set the teapot down and said, “Well, Mrs. Lathrop!” there was that within the tone of her voice which seemed to cause the very air to quiver in anticipation.

“Is anything the-”

“Matter?” Susan put down the toast and drew herself up to her full height as she spoke. “Yes, Mrs. Lathrop, a good deal is the matter. You ain’t seen Jathrop, have you?”

“No; where-”

“He’s gone!”

“Gone?”

“Gone. Mr. Weskin give him to understand as he’d better go somewhere ‘n’ he got on a train ‘n’ did it. If he hadn’t, he might ‘a’ been lynched.”

“Lynched!” screamed the mother, sitting suddenly up. A direful cracking resounded under the bed-clothes as she did so, but in the excitement of the moment its possible evil portent went unnoticed.

“Lynched,” repeated Susan; “that’s what I said, ‘n’ bein’ ’s I was brought up to speak the truth ‘n’ fear no man, you c’n depend upon its bein’ so. But you must eat your breakfast, Mrs. Lathrop,-you mustn’t go without eatin’ or you’ll lose your strength ‘n’ then blood poison ’ll set in. ‘N’ that reminds me ’t Mr. Weskin asked me yesterday if you’d made your will. Have you?”

“No; but I want to know about-”

“He says you’d ought to right off. He says there ‘s no tellin’ where anythin’ ’ll end ‘n’ it ’s wise to be prepared for the worst. He said he knowed a man as walked on a tack ‘n’ jus’ called it a tack, ‘n’ first they had to cut off the tack ‘n’ then the toe ‘n’ then the foot, ‘n’ they kept on slicin’ him higher ‘n’ higher till he died without no will a tall. I said you wasn’t no tack but a cow, but he said it was all one, ‘n’ I guess it is ’s far ’s the lawyers go. I expeck it’d be only a poor lawyer ‘s couldn’t argue a tack into a cow-’n’ out of her again, too, f’r that matter-’n’ Mr. Weskin ain’t no poor-”

“But about Ja-”

“-Lawyer. He’s ’s fine ‘s they make. O’ course a good deal o’ the time no one knows what he means, but that ain’t nothin’ ag’in’ him, f’r I think with a lawyer you ginerally don’t. It’s a part o’ their business not to let no one know what they mean, f’r ’f law was simple no one ’d ever get fooled.”

‘N’ Jath-”

“He’s gone. You c’n make your mind easy about him, f’r he got away all safe. Hiram Mullins chased him clear to the station ‘n’ nigh to catched him, but there was a train jus’ movin’ out, ‘n’ Jathrop shinned up the little fire-escape on the back o’ the calaboose ‘n’ was off. ‘N’ now ‘t he is gone, Mrs. Lathrop, I’m goin’ to right out plain ‘n’ tell you to your face ’s it’s a good thing f’r you ’s he is gone, ‘n’ you want to thank Heaven ’s sent him to you ’t that train was so handy to take him away ag’in.”

“But what-” asked Mrs. Lathrop feebly.

“It was the cow,” said Susan. “Don’t you remember how I run last night? I hear a noise, ‘n’ my first thought was ’s it was Jathrop or mebbe the butcher, but I got to the window jus’ in time to see a tail make the turn o’ the gate, ‘n’ the seein’ the tail showed right off ’s it warn’t Jathrop nor yet the butcher. Seems ‘t Jathrop, not seein’ no ring to tie her to, tied her to a spoke in the hay-rack ‘n’ in her mooin’ she broke it. Seems’t then she squose out into the chicken-coop ‘n’ then busted right through the wire nettin’ ‘n’ set off. She run like wild fire, they say. She headed right f’r town ‘n’ down the main street. She come into the square lickety-split, ‘n’ the town committee was in the middle of it examinin’ the band-stand where Judge Fitch says ’t it shakes when he has to stamp ‘n’ pound in his speeches. She come on the committee so sudden ’t they did n’t even know what it was. She knocked Deacon White over on his back, ‘n’ threw Mr. Shores so hard ag’in’ the waterin’-trough ’t all his suspender tins come out before ‘n’ behind. Gran’ma Mullins was comin’ across with six new teacups done up in each hand. Ed was comin’ along after her with the saucers, but she’d told Mr. Kimball right out to his face as she would n’t trust Ed with nothin’ as had handles ‘n’ so she’d carry them cups home herself. The cow hit her cornering, ‘n’ them cups ‘n’ her false teeth went all over the square. Some o’ ’em hit Deacon White in the face where he lay gaspin’, but the cow never stopped. She jus’ flew. Mr. Fisher was hurryin’ along to join the rest o’ the committee ’t the bandstand, ‘n’ he met her next. She lowered her head ‘n’ jus’ gouged Mr. Fisher’s three-quarters around him ‘n’ tore right on. She took the crick road, ‘n’ Polly Allen ‘n’ Sam Duruy was out walkin’ ‘n’ see her pass. They say greased lightenin’ was donkeys to the way she went. The minister ‘n’ the six childern was jus’ comin’ home from Mrs. Brown’s, ‘n’ the five childern at home was all come runnin’ to meet them. The cow charged right into the middle o’ the bunch, ‘n’ the minister ‘n’ all them eleven childern is laid out f’r one spell.

“Well, ‘n’ even then she did n’t stop. Seemed like ploughin’ through the minister’s family only give her fresh strength. She kept right straight on down the crick road, ‘n’ jus’ by the ditch she come on Mr. ‘n’ Mrs. Jilkins. They was comin’ up to town to spend the night with the Whites, ‘n’ they had the green ‘n’ yellow parasol all done up to send to Mrs. Jilkins’ niece along with ’em. The cow was ’s unexpected to them as to every one else, ‘n’ she hit the parasol right square in the middle. It broke, ‘n’ the wires all bust out ‘n’ punched Mr. Jilkins full o’ holes afore he had time to point it at his wife. She got her share anyhow, though, f’r that dog’s nose handle caught her right aroun’ her leg ‘n’ throwed her head foremost into the ditch.

“‘N’ the cow did n’t stop then! She rushed right along, ‘n’ on the first bridge was Mrs. Macy. She was standin’ wonderin’ what was to pay up the road, ‘n’ then she see it was a cow. Well, Mrs. Lathrop, you know what Mrs. Macy is on cows. I hear her say one day as she ’d rather have a mouse run up her skirts any day ’n a cow. She told me ’t she often go ’way round by Cherry Pond sooner ’n be alone with one in the road, ‘n’ such bein’ the case, you can’t suppose but what she was mortal scared. Her story is ’s she only had time to see its horns ‘n’ the wildness of its eyes afore she never will know what did possess her. She never see a cow that near in all her life before, ‘n’ she says ’f that ’s the way they look face to, she ain’t surprised ’t folks sit a little back when milkin’. It was nigh to on to her, ‘n’ you know yourself ’t the bridge is narrow ‘n’ Mrs. Macy ain’t. Well, Mrs. Lathrop, you c’n believe me or not jus’ ’s you please, ’cause it ’ll be Mrs. Macy ’s you ‘ll be doubtin’ anyhow, but this is what she says happened. The bridge is here, you know,” Susan laid off the plan on her knee, “‘n’ the road is here. The cow was runnin’ like mad along here, ‘n’ Mrs. Macy was white ‘n’ tremblin’ so ’t the whole bridge shook under her, right atop of it. She says to her dyin’ day she ‘ll never see how she done it, but she jus’ grabbed her skirts, spread ’em out wide ‘n’ said ‘Shoo!’ ’s loud ’s she could. Her story is ’t the cow stopped, like she was struck dumb that second; then she reared up ’s pretty a rear ’s Mrs. Macy ’ll ever ask to see, ‘n’ then she fell sideways into the mill-race. The water was on full ‘n’ she went right down ‘n’ into the mill-wheel, ‘n’ some of her caught in it ‘n’ she could n’t budge. It squinched her right up, ‘n’ she kicked some, ‘n’ mooed some, ‘n’ bust the wheel some, ‘n’ died.

“But Mrs. Macy wa’n’t wastin’ no time or words on the cow. She was walkin’ ’s fast ’s she could along to where the nearest noise was comin’ from.

“First she found Mr. Jilkins sittin’ on a stump pickin’ parasol out o’ himself ‘n’ swearin’ in a way ’s Mrs. Macy hopes to be spared hereafter. While she was jus’ bridge side o’ him, Mrs. Jilkins come scramblin’ up out o’ the ditch madder ’n sixty-five hornets. Seems she ’d got most to the top twice, ‘n’ it was so slippery ’t she’d slid clean back to the bottom again. Mrs. Macy says the Lord forgive her all her sins forever ‘n’ ever, ’f she ever see such a sight afore. She tried to wring her out in spots, but she was way beyond wringin’. Besides, Mrs. Macy says she ain’t been a widow so long but what she see ’t a glance ’t they ’d be better ‘n’ happier without no third party by, ‘n’ so she left ’em ‘n’ went on to where the minister ‘n’ his family was feebly tryin’ to put themselves together again. Polly Allen ‘n’ Sam was there helpin’ ’em, ‘n’ Mrs. Allen was up on the porch with the minister’s wife. Seems ‘t was her first sittin’ up, ‘n’ they ‘d got her out in a rocker to see him come home jus’ in time to see him run over. She took on awful ’cause she thought ’t he was killed, sure, ‘n’ then when she found ’t he was n’t, the shock done her up completely. They had to put her straight back in bed, ‘n’ then they put the minister ’n his broken nose in with her ‘n’ went to work on the rest o’ ’em. Sam Duruy got young Dr. Brown there ’s quick ’s he could, ‘n’ young Dr. Brown took off his coat ‘n’ rolled up his sleeves ‘n’ jus’ went for ’em. He got the bandagin’ ’s was ordered for your leg, ‘n’ used it right up on the minister’s family. He sent for all Shores’ flaxseed ‘n’ all Kimball’s cotton, ‘n’ then if he did n’t pitch in! I was there by that time, ‘n’ we set Polly to fryin’ poultices, ‘n’ Mrs. Macy ‘n’ me slapped ’em on hot. Sam was sent with the horse to get the doctor’s darnin’-needles ‘n’ thread, ‘n’ young Dr. Brown told him to drive by the station ‘n’ tell Johnny to telegraph to Meadville f’r old Dr. Carter to come over ‘n’ help him ’s fast as he could.

“Well, Mrs. Lathrop, I wish ’t you could ‘a’ been there to see us. The water jus’ streamed off Mrs. Macy ‘n’ me, ‘n’ I bet them poultices was hot, for no one never asked f’r a nother o’ their own free will. Young Dr. Brown soon had to take off his vest, ‘n’ roll up his sleeves c’nsiderably more high, ‘n’ I will say ‘t beavers was nothin’ to the way he worked. When he had the last one sewed off ‘n’ was ready to go, he looked like there was nothin’ left ’s he did n’t know how to do. He brung me home in his buggy. I know it was pretty late, ‘n’ I never was no great hand to approve o’ buggy-ridin’ after dark, but he’s married ‘n’ I thought ‘s no real harm could come o’ it, so I up ‘n’ in. Mrs. Macy said she ’d stay all night ‘n’ sleep with ’Liza Em’ly ‘n’ Rachel Rebecca in the little half-bed. We come up along through town, ‘n’ I tell you I never see the square so gay any election night ’s it was last night. Not a store was closed, ‘n’ Mr. Kimball was sellin’ soda-water ‘t four cents a glass, with a small sheet o’ court plaster throwed in at that. Dr. Brown stopped to go in back o’ the fountain ‘n’ mix suthin’ ’t they keep there for him, ‘n’ it was then ’s I hear about Jathrop.

“Seems ’t along about ’n hour after the cow ’d run over everybody, Jathrop come moonin’ back from where the butcher lives out Cherry Pond way. Seems ‘t the sight o’ his calmness jus’ sort o’ set every one ’s wasn’t a wreck plum crazy. Seems ’t when he asked what was up Deacon White shook his fist ’t him ‘n’ said he was what ’d ought to be up-strung up, ‘n’ Hiram Mullins wanted to souse him in the waterin’-trough. Seems ’t Hiram was mad ’cause he paid for them teeth o’ Gran’ma Mullins, ‘n’ the teacups too. Well, it was pretty lively, ‘n’ the first thing any one knew Mr. Weskin drawed Jathrop off to one side to cross-examine him a little, ‘n’ Hiram see him start to run f’r the station. Hiram didn’t waste no words findin’ fault ’t Lawyer Weskin’s lettin’ him go, but he went after him jus’ jumpin’. He didn’t catch him, though, ‘n’ so that’s the end o’ Jathrop.”

Miss Clegg paused, and drew a long, refreshing breath.

“I guess you’ve had a nice breakfast,” she said in a minute, “only you’d ought to eat more.”

“I didn’t feel much-” said Mrs. Lathrop.

“Well, you ’d ought to. How’s your leg? C’n you feel it this mornin’?”

“Oh, yes, I c’n-”

“Then it’s all right so far. But I hear last night ’s you c’n feel a leg even after it ’s been cut off. Mrs. Macy says she heard of a man ’s suffers awful yet in a leg as he lost in a planin’-mill over thirty years ago.”

“My Lord alive!” cried Mrs. Lathrop.

“So you see you ain’t sure whether your leg ’s still there or not. However, I ’ve got to go, leg or no leg. I told Mrs. Macy I ’d be at the minister’s at half-past eight to boil ’em all fresh ‘n’ I ain’t got more ’n time to make it easy. I ’ll be home to get you some dinner.”

“I wish I knew where Ja-”

Susan stopped in the act of bending for the tray.

“Mrs. Lathrop!-Mrs. Lathrop! Do you mean to say ’s you don’t know a blessin’ when it ’s throwed right square in your face like yesterday? Jathrop ’s gone, ‘n’ he can’t never come back, ‘n’ if you had ten legs you ‘d ought to yield the last one o’ ’em up to Heaven without a murmur out o’ sheer gratitude over his bein’ took. Now you lay still there ‘n’ don’t even think such foolishness, or the Lord may lose his patience like the cow did hers, ‘n’ after feelin’ ‘n’ seein’ ‘n’ hearin’ what a cow c’n do, I shouldn’t feel noways inclined to rouse the Lord ’f I was you.”

So saying, Susan took up her tray and left the room.

The morning was very long to the broken-legged one, who found herself quite unable to sleep under such circumstances. Her mind did not exactly race about among the startling developments of the past few hours, but it did dwell dubiously upon the more unfortunate phases of past, present, and (possible) future events.

She was glad beyond words when she heard Miss Clegg’s step on the kitchen stoop about noon, and two minutes later Susan was occupying the rocker, and the repast which she had brought with her was beginning to occupy her friend.

“It ‘s jus’ awful ’s you can’t get out,” the visitor said sympathetically; “you’re missin’ things ’s you’ll never have a chance to see again-not ’f you live ’s high ’s Methusylem. The whole c’mmunity is in the square or else on the crick road. They’ve got the minister laid out on the sofa, like he was a president, ‘n’ Polly Allen ’s right there every minute to open the door ‘n’ keep the line amovin’! Every one wants to see the minister ‘n’ every one wants to see the cow; so some goes for the minister first ‘n’ the cow later, ‘n’ others looks ’t the cow first ‘n’ takes the minister in on the way back. They all stop one way or the other to look down at Mrs. Jilkins’ clawin’s on the side o’ the ditch, ‘n’ they say the way she dug in the time she finally made it’s almost beyond belief. The minister says it’s nothin’ but a joy to him to welcome his friends. He lays there ‘n’ quotes ’All thy waves ‘n’ billows went right over me,’ ‘n’ smiles under his cotton, but Mr. Kimball says ’f he told the truth he’d say ’Jathrop Lathrop’s cow ’s went right over me ’instid.

“I must say ‘s the minister seems to be survivin’ better ’n his wife. She says she thought ’t the baby was the last straw, ‘n’ now here was a cow ten thousand times worse. She says bein’ resigned is all right ’f you c’n be alone ‘n’ sit down in peace, but she’d like to know how any one c’d resign themselves to a husband ‘n’ twelve childern all freshly stepped on. I told her’s the new baby hadn’t been touched, but she seemed beyond payin’ attention to trifles like tellin’ the truth.

“Young Dr. Brown ’s awful anxious for some fresh cotton ‘n’ old Dr. Carter to get here from Meadville. He says he wants to dress Henry Ward Beecher’s ear ’f anybody c’n ever catch Henry Ward Beecher. ’Liza Em’ly ‘s goin’ around huggin’ herself ‘n’ groanin’ to beat the band, but young Dr. Brown says he can’t do nothin’ for her because there ain’t no way to get in behind a rib ‘n’ pry it out to place again. I guess the truth o’ the matter is ’t he ‘s jus’ plum tired out piecin’ ‘n’ mendin’. It’s been a big job sewin’ up after Jathrop’s cow tore round like that. They say ’s he had all of a foot to over-’n’-over along Mr. Fisher, ‘n’ Mr. Jilkins is jus’ tufted like a sofa where he stopped up where he was skewered. Mrs. Jilkins is pretty hot yet over the parasol’s bein’ bust ’cause she ’d wrote her niece ’s she was goin’ to give it to her ‘n’ her niece ’s bought a hat with yellow buttercups ‘n’ green leaves jus’ to match it. But I’ll tell you who’s in a sad way,-it ’s poor Gran’ma Mullins. From the first second ’s they got her right end up again she begin to ask suthin’, ‘n’ on a’count o’ her teeth bein’ gone no one could make out what it was. Hiram didn’t get no sleep all night with her sighin’ ‘n’ mumblin’, ‘n’ towards mornin’ he made out ‘s she was wantin’ to know ’f Mr. Kimball ’d replace them cups ’s the cow smashed. Hiram went right after breakfast ‘n’ asked, ‘n’ Mr. Kimball said not on Hiram’s tin-type he wouldn’t. He said Gran’ma Mullins was carryin’ ’em herself sooner ’n trust Ed, ‘n’ he wa’n’t to blame f’r such wild animals ’s might naturally fancy takin’ after her. They tried to console her by lettin’ her see her teeth get put in a mustard box to go to the city to be mended, but the worst of it is ’s two of the teeth can’t be found in the square, ‘n’ Deacon White thinks he swallowed ’em when he laid there gaspin’ so wide open. He says he never knowed such queer feelin’s ‘s he had las’ night. Mrs. Fisher was there, ‘n’ she said ’f Deacon White was bothered ’s to how to act with them teeth he only needed to go ‘n’ consult Mr. Fisher ’cause there ‘s nothin’ in the wide world ’s Mr. Fisher ain’t sure ’t he knows more about ’n any one else. She says Mr. Fisher ain’t a bit suited ’t the way young Dr. Brown brought his edges together, ‘n’ she says he says ‘t jus’ as soon ’s he ain’t so stiff ‘n’ sore about leanin’ over he ‘s goin’ to take all them stitches out ‘n’ sew himself up the way ’t he ’d ought to be sewed.”

Mrs. Lathrop turned a little in bed. Again the cracking noise might be heard, but neither one of the friends had mental leisure to notice it.

“Mr. Weskin stopped me on my way home,” Susan continued, “‘n’ asked me what steps you was intendin’ to take in regard to the lawsuits for damages-”

“Damages!” cried Mrs. Lathrop in great fright.

“Yes, your cow’s damages.”

“My cow! I did n’t have nothin’ to do with her except get kicked by-”

“I know, but Mr. Weskin explained all that to me. Jathrop ’s gone nobody knows where, ‘n’ so you come next. ‘F he’s proved dead leavin’ property it ’d be yours, ‘n’ if he leaves damage-suits you inherit ’em jus’ the same.”

“My heavens!”

“Mr. Weskin says that’s how it is, ‘n’ he mus’ know. I ’ve always had a great respeck for what Mr. Weskin knows ever since he went into court ‘n’ proved ’s the mill ‘s the other side o’ the crick from where it is, jus’ by havin’ Hiram Mullins ‘n’ Sam Duruy stand up ‘n’ swear the mill-race run ’round behind it. I never could see how he done it, but I never felt to blame myself none f’r that, ’cause it takes another lawyer to see what a lawyer ‘s doin’ anyhow. When a lawyer says anythin’ ’s so to me, I never take no time to disbelieve him ’cause ‘f he wa’n’t able to prove the truth o’ his own lyin’ he ’d never get to be in the law a tall. On the other hand, though, I don’t trust him none, even if I ain’t a mite o’ doubt as to what he says. Believin’ is cheap, you c’n believe the whole Bible ‘n’ it won’t cost a cent ‘n’ is suthin’ to your credit; but trustin’ live folks is always expensive. ’F Lawyer Weskin says ’s you c’n be sued, you ’re pretty safe to feel it’s so-the more so ’s it was him ’s sent Jathrop off so slick. But I ain’t so sure ’t I ’d sit down ‘n’ let him sue me ’f I was you. He c’n sue, from now on, but it’s for you to c’nsider whether he gets anythin’ but fun out o’ it or not. ’F you ’re willin’ to be sued, it’s ownin’ you know you ‘ve done suthin’, ‘n’ you ain’t done nothin’-it was the cow’s did it to you. There ain’t nothin’ to be gained f’r even the wicked by ownin’ up to bein’ wicked in court, ‘n’ they often get off by ownin’ up to bein’ innocent. You can’t never lose nothin’ by swearin’ ’s it wa’n’t you, ‘n’ ’s far as my observation ’s extended, a person ‘s starts out by tryin’ to be honest ‘n’ sayin’, ‘Yes, I done it,’ soon finds themselves with the whole neighborhood laid at their door ‘n’ never no thanks for it, neither.

“Mr. Weskin says ’t Deacon White says ’t some one ’s got to pay him f’r happenin’ to swallow Gran’ma Mullins’ teeth when he wa’n’t thinkin’. Well, ‘f he’s got a right to anythin’, pretty nigh all the c’mmunity ’s got a equal right. There ’s Mr. Fisher with a slice out o’ his side, ‘n’ them nine teacups o’ Gran’ma Mullins’. There ’s Mr. Jilkins goin’ to set a price for every parasol punch he got, ‘n’ Mrs. Jilkins goin’ to want a new parasol.

“‘N’ then it ‘d be jus’ like young Dr. Brown to perk up ‘n’ send you a bill, instid o’ bein’ everlastin’ly grateful for all the teachin’ he owes straight to you. He’s had a chance to perform ‘most every kind o’ operation ‘n’ to use up the last drop o’ all his old liniments jus’ as a result o’ that one cow. Then too he’s had a chance to call old Dr. Carter over in consultation, ‘n’ in the ordinary run o’ things he could n’t o’ ‘xpected to have nothin’ to consult about f’r years ‘n’ years. He’s a made young man ‘n’ all in one night, jus’ owin’ to you, ‘n’ the last time he whipped his horse through the square to-day, Mr. Kimball said he looked so busy ’t he supposed they ’d elect him our next mayor.

“You was n’t responsible f’r the cow’s gettin’, ‘n’ Jathrop was. It’s Jathrop ’s is to blame, ‘n’ if any one’s to be sued it ’d ought to be him, ‘n’ he ain’t got no property but the cow, ‘n’ she’s hung up dead ‘n’ her own damage, so it’s no use sum’ him f’r anythin’. Folks ’s ain’t got nothin’ don’t never have any law troubles, ‘n’ Jathrop is gone off ‘n’ so he ‘s specially handy to blame for everythin’. ’S far ’s my observation ’s ’xtended, it ’s always folks a long ways off ’s it’s wisest to lay all the faults to, ‘n’ ’f I was you-”

Mrs. Lathrop’s eyes suddenly started out of her head.

“I can’t feel my leg!” she cried.

Susan sprang to her feet.

“It’s the plaster!” she exclaimed; then, starting towards the door, “I ’ll run ‘n’ get the axe ‘n’ hack you right out.”

“No-no,” screamed Mrs. Lathrop, “not the axe.”

“Then I ’ll bring up the teakettle ‘n’ pour boilin’ water on it till it softens ‘n’ comes off.”

“No, I don’t want-”

“Well, Mrs. Lathrop,”-Susan looked her disapproval,-“seems to me you ‘re jus’ a little fussy. I must say if you ain’t willin’ to have it broke off or soaked off, I can’t well see how it’s goin’ to be got off.”

Mrs. Lathrop bunched herself somewhat, and a grating and powdering noise resulted.

“I drew it right up!” she cried joyfully.

Susan’s expression became enigmatic.

Mrs. Lathrop manoeuvred further.

“I straightened it out!” she announced further.

Miss Clegg approached the bed.

“I don’t believe ’s it was ever broke,” she said in deep disgust.

“Dr. Brown said he wa’n’t sure,” the invalid continued, elongating and contracting herself, caterpillar-like,’ “he said ’s he ’d wait the windin’-”

“Mrs. Lathrop,” said Susan suddenly, “I ‘ve jus’ thought! It’s this afternoon ’s the butcher ‘n’ the man ’s mends church spires ‘s comin’ together to get the cow out o’ the mill-wheel. The whole c’mmunity ’s goin’ down to look on, ‘n’ I can’t see no good ‘n’ s’fficient reason why you should n’t go too. I ’ll help you dress, ‘n’ we ’ll scurry along right now. ’F we meet Mr. Weskin ‘n’ he says lawsuit to you, you jus’ up ‘n’ tell him ’s you ‘re goin’ to sue him for throwin’ you head foremost into a fever on a’count o’ not knowin’ where your only son ’s been gone all night, ‘n’ ’f young Dr. Brown ever has the face to so much ‘s hint at a bill, you jus’ out ‘n’ ask him ’f he knows a whole leg when he sees one, ‘n’ if he don’t answer, say ’t you ’ve got two in spite o’ his plaster. There’s always a way out o’ anythin’ ’f a person only don’t try to think it out, but jus’ speaks up sharp ‘n’ decided. Come on ‘n’ get up now, ‘n’ I ’ll help you hurry, ‘n’ your leg won’t miss nothin’ after all.”

Mrs. Lathrop got out of bed at once.