Doing chores is a routine job, and even the animals seem to be getting it down to a system. When I go out to feed the cattle in the morning Sheppy meets me at the door and insists on having a play, which consists mostly of jumping up against me as if he were a wolf trying to catch me by the throat and drag me down. My part of the game is to catch him off his guard when his feet are off the ground and give him a push that bowls him down. After he has had a few tumbles he is satisfied, and begins running around in wide circles. When I get near the stable the kitten that the children have named after an eminent statesman gets on the path in front of me, purring and rolling on his back so that I can tickle him with the toe of my boot. As soon as I begin to open the stable door the driver whinnies "Good-morning," and a moment later the Jimmie-cow bawls complainingly, and says in part: "Why———are you so late coming out to feed us this morning? Get a wiggle on you with those cornstalks!" Of course, it is all very foolish, but when one is attending to the wants of a lot of animals he gets about as well acquainted with them as he does with people, and, as I have remarked before, they all have very human attributes. Human nature can be studied in farm animals just as easily as in city crowds—and you do not have to be so extravagant with your expense account.