Monna. 5

Or is it the cow keepin’ you, Reuben?” And the
merry, mischievous face of Tommy Cadwallader
peered at me over a bit of rising ground.

“J don't know,” said I, dolefully. “I want her to
come home, and I can’t make her come.”

Tommy turned head-over-heels down to where I
stood. “Home to your house? Is she yourn,
then ?” he enquired.

“She's father’s,” said I.

“ How long have you had her ?”

“Going on for a week.”

“First ’ve heard on’t,” remarked Tommy, with
an air of some surprise. “ Bought her at the fair, I
suppose, on Monday? And so they’ve a-put you
to herd her. Well, you’re buta little chap, Reuben,
so I don't care if I helps you home with her. Give
us your stick here. Ca-a-ow, ca-a-ow! het, het !”

And Monna, to my great relief, instantly obeyed.

“Be you going to look after her always?” en-
quired Tommy, as we walked along at the black
cow’sheels. “ Cause you ought to learn cow-driving
if so be. Ca-a-ow, ca-a-ow! Say you that, now.”

I obeyed, but made such a weak, absurd imitation,
that Tommy laughed until he had to lean against
the bank.

“ Never you mind, Reuben,” said he at last, secing
that I looked somewhat out of countenance.