Chapter 19

A QUESTION OF LUCK

"How lucky some people are!" said old Mr. Crow. He was talking to the Muley Cow, in the pasture. And though she didn't specially care for his company, she was curious enough to ask him what he meant.

"I was just thinking," Mr. Crow explained, "I was just thinking what a hard life I lead, and how I have to hunt around to find whatever I can to eat. In winter it's usually poor pickings for me. But some people have their meals set right under their noses. They don't even need to stir."

"I suppose," the Muley Cow ventured, "you're thinking about us cows."

"I am," he admitted. "You have such an easy time that often I actually wish I had been born a cow myself."

The Muley Cow shook her head.

"That would have been impossible," she murmured.

Old Mr. Crow flared up at once.

"I'd like to know why!" he shrieked. He was always ill-mannered when he was angry.

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!"