A cow was contented, he said,
because it was satisfied to stand under a tree and breathe the free
air, and look up into the blue skies and over the green fields, and
chew the cud. As long as the cow was satisfied with one cud it would
be contented; but once the idea got abroad in the pasture that two cuds
were required for a respectable cow, peace and happiness were gone
forever."
"Our lanky stranger seems a wise man," said I. "In the face of all
that, what did you say?"
"I told him I wasn't a cow," Tim answered.
There was no controverting such a reply, and though my sympathies were
with the pessimistic Weston, I dared not raise my voice in defence of
his logic as against this young brother. Tim seemed to think that the
fact that he was not a cow turned from him all the force of Weston's
philosophy, and insisted on going blindly on in search of another cud.
"He laughed when I said that," Tim continued, "and he said he guessed
there was no sense in using figures of speech to me, but he was willing
to bet that some time I would come to his way of thinking.
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