“Don’t you overturn our berries,” said my wife, walking toward the creature. The cow was evidently a pet, for as Ethel put out her hand to shoo her away she sniffed expectantly and put out her tongue in hope of receiving some little delicacy. This so terrified Minerva that she took another step upward, put her faith in a recreant limb, and, just as Bert and I discovered ourselves to Ethel, our “cook lady” fell out of the tree and landed smack on the cow, who kindly broke her fall and then broke into a run, kicking her heels and waving her tail, after the manner of her species. Minerva was not hurt, thanks to the cow, but she was much agitated, and it was some time before we could make her listen to the words of wisdom that all three poured forth with generous ease. “It was such a lovely day, we thought we’d go berrying,” said Ethel. “You got my note, I suppose.” “No, I did not. I made up my mind that you were taking Minerva to the train, and as Bert passed by just then, I came down with him in order to go back with you.” “Then how came you here?” asked Ethel. “How came we here? _How came we here?_ Why those screams went beyond Mount Nebo. You’ll see people pouring over the edge of it in a few minutes. Such shrieks I never heard outside of a mad house. I thought it was Indians.” Minerva’s agitation had now taken the form of sobbing, and as she mopped her face with her apron it began to dawn upon her that she had not been in danger until she took to the tree. She helped herself to a handful of berries, and they seemed to do her good, for she listened to Ethel’s account of what had happened and punctuated it with what at first were chuckles, and when the humour of the thing had soaked in far enough were her irresistible guffaws, so provocative of laughter in others. “We were picking berries and enjoying ourselves very much when I heard a rustling and looked up, and there was a cow. I said rather hastily, ‘Oh, look,’ and Minerva looked and screamed out, ‘It’s a bear,’ and before I could tell her what it was she had gone up that tree as if she had lived in the country all her life. She begged of me to come up with her, but I got over my fear of cows some time ago.” This with a conscious blush, for Ethel knew that in times past she, too, had fled from a cow. I turned to Minerva. “Do you mean to tell me that you never saw a cow before? There are cows in the city.” “I never saw one.” “Haven’t you seen pictures of them on groceries?” “I spec I have, but comin’ thataway at me it looked like a bear.”