So Stumpy roamed through yard, kitchen, and stable, stalking over
bleaching sheets, burglarizing the garden gate, and grazing
wherever he chose.
The goat inspired no fear in anybody else. Jennie would chase him
out of her way a dozen times a day, and Cully would play bullfight
with him, and Carl and the other men would accord him his proper
place, spanking him with the flat of a shovel whenever he
interfered with their daily duties, or shying a corn-cob after him
when his alertness carried him out of their reach.
This afternoon Jennie had missed her blue-checked apron. It had
been drying on the line outside the kitchen door five minutes
before. There was no one at home but herself, and she had seen
nobody pass the door. Perhaps the apron had blown over into the
stable-yard. If it had, Carl would be sure to have seen it. She
knew Carl had come home; she had been watching for him through the
window. Then she ran in for her shawl.
Carl was rubbing down the Big Gray. He had been hauling ice all
the morning for the brewery. The Gray was under the cart-shed, a
flood of winter sunlight silvering his shaggy mane and restless
ears. The Swede was scraping his sides with the currycomb, and
the Big Gray, accustomed to Cully's gentler touch, was resenting
the familiarity by biting at the tippet wound about the neck of
the young man.
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