ood at that
kind of work, but that he would help Uncle Cash hold the cow's head;
that was just as necessary, and considerable safer.

Moses was more inclined to the service of humanity, and did his best,
wrapping his wrist in a cloth, and making desperate but ineffectual dabs
at the slippery green turnip-tops in the reluctantly opened throat. But
the cow tossed her head and stamped her feet and switched her tail
and wriggled from under Bill's hands, so that it seemed altogether
impossible to reach the seat of the trouble.

Uncle Cash was in despair, fuming and fretting the more because of his
own crippled hand.

"Hitch up, Bill," he said, "and, Hannah, you drive over to Milliken's
Mills for the horse-doctor. I know we can git out that turnip if we can
hit on the right tools and somebody to manage em right; but we've got to
be quick about it or the critter'll choke to death, sure! Your hand's so
clumsy, Mose, she thinks her time's come when she feels it in her mouth,
and your fingers are so big you can't ketch holt o' that green stuff
thout its slippin'!"

"Mine ain't big; let me try," said a timid voice, and turning round,
they saw little Elisha Simpson, his trousers pulled on over his
night-shirt, his curly hair ruffled, his eyes vague with sleep.

Uncle Cash gave a laugh of good-humored derision. "You--that's afraid
to drive a cow to pasture? No, sir; you hain't got sand enough for this
job, I guess!"

Buttercup just then gave a worse cough than ever, and her eyes rolled in
her head as if she were giving up the ghost.

"I'd rather do it than see her choke to death!" cried the boy, in
despair.

"Then, by ginger, you can try it, sonny!" said Uncle Cash. "Now this
time we'll tie her head up. Take it slow, and make a good job of it."

Accordingly they pried poor Buttercup's jaws open to put a wooden gag
between them, tied her head up, and kept her as still as they could
while the women held the lanterns.

"Now, sonny, strip up your sleeve and reach as fur down's you can! Wind
your little fingers in among that green stuff stickin' up there that
ain't hardly big enough to call green stuff, give it a twist, and pull
for all you're worth. Land! What a skinny little pipe stem!"

The Little Prophet had stripped up his sleeve. It was a slender thing,
his arm; but he had driven the red cow all summer, borne her tantrums,
protected her from the consequences of her own obstinacy, taking (as he
thought) a future owner'