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bold as a brass kettle; I don't see how they come to be twins;

they ain't a mite alike."
"Elijah was always called the fighting twin' at school," said

Rebecca, "and Elisha's other name was Nimbi-Pamby; but I think
he's a nice little boy, and I'm glad he has come back. He won't

like living with Mr. Came, but he'll be almost next door to the
minister's, and Mrs. Baxter is sure to let him play in her

garden."
"I wonder why the boy's stayin' with Cassius Came," said Jane.

"To be sure they haven't got any of their own, but the child's
too young to be much use."

"I know why," remarked Rebecca promptly, "for I heard all about
it over to Watson's when I was getting the milk. Mr. Came traded

something with Mr. Simpson two years ago and got the best of the
bargain, and Uncle Jerry says he's the only man that ever did,

and he ought to have a monument put up to him. So Mr. Came owes
Mr. Simpson money and won't pay it, and Mr. Simpson said he'd

send over a child and board part of it out, and take the rest in
stock--a pig or a calf or something."

"That's all stuff and nonsense," exclaimed Miranda; "nothin' in
the world but store-talk. You git a clump o' men-folks settin'

round Watson's stove, or out on the bench at the door, an'
they'll make up stories as fast as their tongues can wag. The man

don't live that's smart enough to cheat Abner Simpson in a trade,
and who ever heard of anybody's owin' him money? Tain't

supposable that a woman like Mrs. Came would allow her husband to
be in debt to a man like Abner Simpson. It's a sight likelier

that she heard that Mrs. Simpson was ailin' and sent for the boy
so as to help the family along. She always had Mrs. Simpson to

wash for her once a month, if you remember Jane?"
There are some facts so shrouded in obscurity that the most

skillful and patient investigator cannot drag them into the light
of day. There are also (but only occasionally) certain motives,

acts, speeches, lines of conduct, that can never be wholly and
satisfactorily explained, even in a village post-office or on the

loafers' bench outside the tavern door.
Cassius Came was a close man, close of mouth and close of purse;

and all that Riverboro ever knew as to the three months' visit of
the Simpson twin was that it actually occurred. Elisha, otherwise

Nimbi-Pamby, came; Nimbi-Pamby stayed; and Nimbi-Pamby, when he
finally rejoined his own domesticcircle, did not go empty-handed

(so to speak), for he was accompanied on his homeward travels by
a large, red, bony, somewhat truculent cow, who was tied on

behind the wagon, and who made the journey a lively and eventful
one by her total lack of desire to proceed over the road from

Edgewood to Acreville. But that, the cow's tale, belongs to
another time and place, and the coward's tale must come first;

for Elisha Simpson was held to be sadly lacking in the manly
quality of courage.

It was the new minister's wife who called Nimbi-Pamby the Little
Prophet. His full name was Elisha Jeremiah Simpson, but one

seldom heard it at full length, since, if he escaped the ignominy
of Nimbi-Pamby, Lishe was quite enough for an urchin just in his

first trousers and those assumed somewhat prematurely. He was "
Lishe," therefore, to the village, but the Little Prophet to the

young minister's wife.
Rebecca could see the Cames' brown farmhouse from Mrs. Baxter's

sitting-room window. The little-traveled road with strips of
tufted green between the wheel tracks curled dustily up to the

very doorstep, and inside the screen door of pink mosquito
netting was a wonderful drawn-in rug, shaped like a half pie,

with "Welcome" in saffron letters on a green ground.
Rebecca liked Mrs. Cassius Came, who was a friend of her Aunt

Miranda's and one of the few persons who exchanged calls with
that somewhat unsociable lady. The Came farm was not a long walk

from the brick house, for Rebecca could go across the fields when
haying-time was over, and her delight at being sent on an errand

in that direction could not be measured, now that the new
minister and his wife had grown to be such a resource in her

life. She liked to see Mrs. Came shake the Welcome rug, flinging
the cheery word out into the summer sunshine like a bright

greeting to the day. She liked to see her go to the screen door a
dozen times in a morning, open it a crack and chase an imaginary

fly from the sacred precincts within. She liked to see her come
up the cellar steps into the side garden, appearing mysteriously

as from the bowels of the earth, carrying a shining pan of milk
in both hands, and disappearing through the beds of hollyhocks

and sunflowers to the pig-pen or the hen-house.
Rebecca was not fond of Mr. Came, and neither was Mrs. Baxter,

nor Elisha, for that matter; in fact Mr. Came was rather a
difficult person to grow fond of, with his fiery red beard, his

freckled skin, and his gruff way of speaking; for there were no
children in the brown house to smooth the creases from his

forehead or the roughness from his voice.
II

The new minister's wife was sitting under the shade of her great
maple early one morning, when she first saw the Little Prophet. A

tiny figure came down the grass-grown road leading a cow by a
rope. If it had been a small boy and a small cow, a middle-sized

boy and an ordinary cow, or a grown man and a big cow, she might
not have noticed them; but it was the combination of an

infinitesimal boy and a huge cow that attracted her attention.
She could not guess the child's years, she only knew that he was

small for his age, whatever it was.
The cow was a dark red beast with a crumpled horn, a white star

on her forehead, and a large surprised sort of eye. She had, of
course, two eyes, and both were surprised, but the left one had

an added hint of amazement in it by virtue of a few white hairs
lurking accidentally in the centre of the eyebrow.

The boy had a thin sensitive face and curtly brown hair, short
trousers patched on both knees, and a ragged straw hat on the

back of his head. He pattered along behind the cow, sometimes
holding the rope with both hands, and getting over the ground in

a jerky way, as the animal left him no time to think of a smooth
path for bare feet.

The Came pasture was a good half-mile distant, and the cow seemed
in no hurry to reach it; accordingly she forsook the road now and

then, and rambled in the hollows, where the grass was sweeter to
her way of thinking. She started on one of these exploring

expeditions just as she passed the minister's great maple, and
gave Mrs. Baxter time to call out to the little fellow, "Is that

your cow?"
Elisha blushed and smiled, and tried to speak modestly, but there

was a quiver of pride in his voice as he answered suggestively:
"It's--nearly my cow."

"How is that?" asked Mrs. Baxter.
"Why, Mr. Came says when I drive her twenty-nine more times to

pasture thout her gettin' her foot over the rope or thout my
bein' afraid, she's goin' to be my truly cow. Are you fraid of

cows?"
"Ye-e-es," Mrs. Baxter confessed, "I am, just a little. You see,

I am nothing but a woman, and boys can't understand how we feel
about cows."

"I can! They're awful big things, aren't they?"
"Perfectly enormous! I've always thought a cow coming towards you

one of the biggest things in the world."
"Yes; me, too. Don't let's think about it. Do they hook people so

very often?"
"No indeed, in fact one scarcely ever hears of such a case."

"If they stepped on your bare foot they'd scrunch it, wouldn't
they?"

"Yes, but you are the driver; you mustn't let them do that; you
are a free-will boy, and they are nothing but cows."

"I know; but p'raps there is free-will cows, and if they just
WOULD do it you couldn't help being scrunched, for you mustn't

let go of the rope nor run, Mr. Came says.
"No, of course that would never do."

"Where you used to live did all the cows go down into the boggy
places when you drove em to pasture, or did some walk in the

road?"
"There weren't any cows or any pastures where I used to live;

that's what makes me so foolish; why does your cow need a rope?"
"She don't like to go to pasture, Mr. Came says. Sometimes she'd

druther stay to home, and so when she gets part way she turns
round and comes 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 feeblewarning 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 "fine frenzy." The

frenzied roll did not mean anything, they used to assure Elisha;
but if it didn't, it was an awful pity she had to do it, Rebecca

thought; and Mrs. Baxter agreed. To have an expression of eye
that meant murder, and yet to be a perfectlyvirtuous and

well-meaning animal, this was a calamity indeed.
Mrs. Baxter was looking at the sun one evening as it dropped like

a ball of red fire into Wilkins's woods, when the Little Prophet
passed.

"It's the twenty-ninth night," he called joyously.
"I am so glad," she answered, for she had often feared some

accident might prevent his claiming the promised reward. "Then
tomorrow Buttercup will be your own cow?"



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