“’T will keep me out of mischief, while I’m waiting. Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do. Which cow kicks? I don’t want anything to do with a kicking cow. I used to have one, a fust-class kicker. Hit me once; thought the lightning had struck the haystack! I tried tying her leg. Tied it to an old sleigh under the shed; she kicked that to pieces. Tied it to the sill of the barn; and by George! she started to kick the barn down. Tied it then to an old grin’stone lying in the yard; and at the fust kick she sent it like a pebble from a sling right over the kitchen chimbly, quarter of a mile at least; fell into Welby’s bog; sunk so deep I’ve never thought ’t would pay to fish it out.”