omes
backwards."

"Dear me!" thought Mrs. Baxter, "what becomes of this boy-mite if the
cow has a spell of going backwards?--Do you like to drive her?" she
asked.

"N-no, not erzackly; but you see, it'll be my cow if I drive her
twenty-nine more times thout her gettin' her foot over the rope and
thout my bein' afraid," and a beaming smile gave a transient brightness
to his harassed little face. "Will she feed in the ditch much longer?"
he asked. "Shall I say Hurrap'? That's what Mr. Came says--HURRAP!' like
that, and it means to hurry up."

It was rather a feeble warning that he sounded and the cow fed
on peacefully. The little fellow looked up at the minister's wife
confidingly, and then glanced back at the farm to see if Cassius Came
were watching the progress of events.

"What shall we do next?" he asked.

Mrs. Baxter delighted in that warm, cosy little 'WE;' it took her into
the firm so pleasantly. She was a weak prop indeed when it came to cows,
but all the courage in her soul rose to arms when Elisha said, "What
shall WE do next?" She became alert, ingenious, strong, on the instant.

"What is the cow's name?" she asked, sitting up straight in the
swing-chair.

"Buttercup; but she don't seem to know it very well. She ain't a mite
like a buttercup."

"Never mind; you must shout 'Buttercup!' at the top of your voice, and
twitch the rope HARD; then I'll call, 'Hurrap!' with all my might at
the same moment. And if she starts quickly we mustn't run nor seem
frightened!"

They did this; it worked to a charm, and Mrs. Baxter looked
affectionately after her Little Prophet as the cow pulled him down Tory
Hill.

The lovely August days wore on. Rebecca was often at the parsonage
and saw Elisha frequently, but Buttercup was seldom present at their
interviews, as the boy now drove her to the pasture very early in the
morning, the journey thither being one of considerable length and her
method of reaching the goal being exceedingly roundabout.

Mr. Came had pointed out the necessity of getting her into the pasture
at least a few minutes before she had to be taken out again at night,
and though Rebecca didn't like Mr. Came, she saw the common sense of
this remark. Sometimes Mrs. Baxter and Rebecca caught a glimpse of
the two at sundown, as they returned from the pasture to the twilight
milking, Buttercup chewing her peaceful cud, her soft white bag of milk
hanging full, her surprised eye rolling in its accustomed