WAR
could gether up—mostly by himself in fence corners—and wanted more.
Even when he minded the cows I used to see him sit under the trees and books come out of his pocket and his nose go into 'em forgetful.
That's how we came to lose Shalom—she was a cow. While Jon's nose was in a book Shalom's nose was fooling with a blast Swartz's men had set in the quarry, which went off before she stopped. Jon was sorry for Shalom and got the pieces and gave them decent burial and put up a wooden tombstone. She was the only cow living which ever came to misfortune through Jon. And it always worried him. He was crazy about not killing things. He used to say that only One could take life: Him that gave it. He wouldn't kill a fly. And that used to aggravate me. For they were mighty plenty on the old farm. Sometimes he'd catch a handful and put 'em out of doors—but the rest stayed with us—on account of Jonthy.
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