XV
TOO MANY QUESTIONS
From his favorite perch in the top of a tall elm old Mr. Crow saw Mistah Mule and the Muley Cow talking together. He hurriedly gathered a dozen of his friends, whom he found in the cornfield, and led them in a headlong flight to the pasture. He had promised them good sport, teasing the Muley Cow.
The crew of Crows found the Muley Cow in the shade of a maple tree, chewing her cud.
“A—ahem!” said Mr. Crow to the old dame. “Did you have a pleasant chat with Mistah Mule?”
“Very!” the Muley Cow replied. “I must say that I found Mistah Mule quite gentlemanly, which is something I haven’t found some of my neighbors.”
Her answer almost took Mr. Crow’s breath away.
“There’s a mistake somewhere,” he croaked, amid the loud laughter of his friends. “I should like to know what Mistah Mule said to you.”
“He said something about you, Mr. Crow. But I’d rather not repeat it.”
Old Mr. Crow tried to make himself heard above the clamor of his cronies, who were having a better time, even, than they had expected.
“That Mistah Mule is two-faced,” he declared. “I’m going straight to him and ask him what he means by gossiping about me.”
“We’ll come too!” cried his friends.
He wished they would go away. But they all followed him as he sailed over the hillside and settled down beside Mistah Mule.
“What did you say to the Muley Cow?” Mr. Crow demanded fiercely of that dusky fellow.
“I done told her I didn’t ’spect to work none on this farm,” said Mistah Mule with a grin.
“Ha! I can well believe that,” cried Mr. Crow. “And what else, pray, did you say to her?”
“You mean, did I done say somethin’ ’bout a ole black rascal who thinks hisself mighty smart?” Mistah Mule inquired mildly.
A chorus of loud caws greeted this question. And Mr. Crow flew into a rage.
“There’s no use talking with this great clown,” he said to his friends. “It’s impossible to converse with him.” And rising swiftly, Mr. Crow tore off toward the woods. His friends followed him, jeering boisterously. And Mistah Mule gave voice to a loud hee-haw, which only made Mr. Crow fly the faster.
Mistah Mule stood still and watched his late callers straggle into the cover of the tree-tops.
“I doesn’t look to see that old Crow ’round here agin in a hurry,” he murmured.
“I certainly hope not!” said somebody in a squeaky tone, right at his feet.
“My sakes! Who’s here?” Mistah Mule exclaimed.