After a few minutes, someone came out of the house with a lighted kerosene lantern. Then the newlyweds came out on the porch. I suppose they figured we wouldn't go away until they came out. The groom came out into the yard and said something like, "Ah, come on that's enough noise, leave us alone." The older ones in our bunch exchanged a few friendly words with them and then we all told them goodnight and went home. Like all farm families, we had animals. And when a cow found a new calf out in our pasture, one or the other of us kids would claim it for our own. We would beg, "Papa, can I have it?" or, "Mama, can it be mine?" Yes, they said it could be ours. And so, it belonged to one of us kids. Just about everyone of us had a calf or a colt all our own--until it came time to sell it. Then guess whose it became. Papa's, naturally. But then, those of us who were young enough to believe it was really ours in the first place, were young enough to forget our loss easily. After all, there was no harm done. It had been ours while it was little and cute. We had one old mare that we called Old Ribbon. She was not only called Old Ribbon, she was old and her name was Ribbon. She was gentle and slow and patient with us young ones and didn't seem to mind if four or five of us rode her at one time. To get up on Old Ribbon we had to lead her up beside a stump or a tub or a wagon tongue or something else we could climb up on and then jump on her back. Along with her other admirable characteristics, Old Ribbon was also smart. When she didn't want us to climb up on her, she would move away just far enough that, when we tried to jump on her back, we would land on the ground between her and whatever it was we jumped from. If we cheated on Old Ribbon and helped each other up without her having to get near some climbable object, she was still patient and gentle with us. She wouldn't pitch us off. She didn't have to. She knew where there was a low-hanging limb on a tree that she would walk under. And when she did, there was no way anyone could stay on her back. What's more, there was no way we little kids could keep her from that low limb. If we pulled her head to one side, she would go sideways to the limb. Then we had a choice--jump off or be forced off. The one in front could hang onto the limb; the others would all fall in a pile behind Old Ribbon. We soon learned it was best to bail out beforehand. But one day, I remember, Old Ribbon gave us a little trouble. However, I'm sure she didn't do it intentionally.