y.

The Muley Cow stared at him coolly. She was a calm person, generally.

"You would have had to be a calf, in the beginning," she explained.

"Of course! Of course!" Mr. Crow spluttered. "Of course I knew that. You
needn't bother to tell me things that everybody knows."

"Being a cow is not all fun, I assure you," the Muley Cow continued.
"The trouble is, you can't go and come as you please. You have to do
about as you're told. And I'm sure you wouldn't like that, Mr. Crow."

"Perhaps not!" he admitted somewhat grudgingly. "But they're not always
looking for you with a gun," he croaked. "And you always have plenty of
company."

"Too much, sometimes," said the Muley Cow. "You can get off by yourself
whenever you want to. But how's a cow to get away from the herd?"

"She can jump the fence," said old Mr. Crow with a wicked gleam in his
eye.

"Yes! yes!" the Muley Cow agreed hastily. "But we won't discuss that.
And remember--a cow couldn't go miles and miles around Blue Mountain in
just a few minutes, as you can."

The old gentleman couldn't see that there was anything specially
pleasant in making long flights. "When I travel, it's generally because
I'm hungry," he said. "It's because I'd starve if I stood still. And in
winter I have to step lively, I can tell you. Food's scarce then, for us
crows. We have to snatch a morsel wherever we can find it, while you fat
cows are having the best of things in a warm barn.... Yes!" he declared
somewhat sourly. "You're enjoying the finest of food--out of season,
too."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said the Muley Cow.

"Corn!" Mr. Crow snapped. "Doesn't Farmer Green fill the silo with corn
in the summer? And doesn't he feed it to you in the winter? Deny it if
you can!"

XX

GOOD CORN WASTED

Mr. Crow had been talking about the corn in the silo, which Farmer Green
fed to the herd during the winter. And the Muley Cow could see that he
was growing angrier every moment.

"Well! well!" she exclaimed. "You don't object--do you?--if Farmer Green
feeds us corn that he raised himself."

"Certainly I do!" Mr. Crow fumed. "It's not fair. He doesn't store away
any nice sweet corn in a silo for me."

"Ah! You wouldn't like it if he did," the Muley Cow told him.

"Why not?" Mr. Crow asked. "Why shouldn't I enjoy nice sweet corn in
the dead of winter?"

"Because--" said the Muley Cow--"because the corn from the silo isn't
sweet. It's sour, Mr. Crow. An