Circling wide, the boys made a complete barrier beyond which the poor
tipsy cow dared not force her way. So with a hopelessly pathetic "moo"
and a look at her adversaries which might have done credit to the mock
turtle of Lewis Carrol's creation, she surrendered forthwith, and
promptly flopped down in the middle of the lawn.
Not so her daughter. Not a bit of it! SHE had not finished her fling and
never did madder chase ensue than the one which at length ended in
effectually cornering the flighty one.
"Lemme tote her home. Fer de Lawd's sake, sah, lemme tote her home
quick, 'fore Unc' Jess an' Missie Peggy kill me daid," begged Cicero.
"You tote her home, you spindly little shaver! She'd part her cable and
go adrift in half a minute after you got under way. Come on, boys, we've
got to convoy this craft into her home port. Make fast," and with the
experience of three years' training in seamanship, Shortie and his
companions proceeded to make fast the recalcitrate Sally, and amidst
hoots and yells calculated to sober up the most hopeless inebriate, they
led her to her barn where Cicero read her the riot act as he fastened
her in her stall.
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