Well, the people were friendly enough, but none seemed in need of a savior or hero. None of the workmen or worthies were wealthy, but none were starving. There were cattle and sheep in the pens, chickens pecking for bugs in the yards of sturdy huts with thickly thatched roofs. Jacque was glad the people were so prosperous and well, but he would have liked to have found a little trouble.

Something he did find one day was an old woman beating a cow while a young girl watched. The woman had a ladder propped against the side of her hut and was trying to get the cow to climb the ladder. She was encouraging it with blows of a switch and a lot of foul language. The cow mooed excitedly, not one hoof on the ladder. The young girl hopped from one end of the cow to the other, nervously looking for how she should help.

Jacque watched this circus for several minutes, the old woman puffing and grunting, abusing the cow and ordering it up the ladder, the girl at a loss for what to do. The cow, for its part, did not understand why it warranted such treatment. It did not enjoy the beating or foul language, but neither did it want to climb the ladder.

Finally, even Jacque, who believed in minding his own business (unless there was some one to save) could stand it no longer. "Mother," he called, "why are you trying to force that animal up that ladder? Cows I've known rarely want to climb anything."

The old woman huffed and puffed and leaned against a flank of the frightened cow. "Can your not see, your nosy oaf? There are grass growing in the thatch on my roof. If I let it go, it will break up the thatch. My roof will fall apart, and then where I are when the rains come? Answer that!"

Jacque nodded thoughtfully. "Aye, mother," he said. "Grass will destroy a good thatch roof. But - and you must forgive me for butting in the more - wouldn't it be easier for a person to climb on the roof and tear out the grass? The little girl could throw it down and the cow could eat it on the ground without having to be beat up the ladder."

"Hunh!" yelped the old woman. "Fetching grass for a cow, hunh? Well, maybe where you're from people hand feed their cows, but not here. She just get up there and get the grass herself, she are. I are not her maid!"

Jacque nodded again. "But isn't there a new problem with her on the roof? I mean, cows are not normally climbing animals. It seems she might become frightened and fall."

"Hunh!" grunted the old woman again. "Like I not thought of such a thing! See this?" She held up a length of thin, strong rope. "One end of this are on them cow's neck. I'll run the other down the chimney and tie it to my wrist. That way I knows if she cuts any capers or tries to get away."

Jacque nodded again, more than a little confused. "Well," he said at last, "carry on, mother. I did not mean to keep you from your work."

"A fine idea, fetching grass for a cow!" The old woman mumbled and grunted to herself and went back to abusing the frightened cow.

Jacque would not have believed such a thing in a story, but he saw it himself, so he knew it was true - the old woman got the cow up the ladder and onto the thatched roof. The cow wasn't happy, mind you, and neither was the old woman. But she was satisfied she had won, not the cow, and that took the place of being happy. She dropped the free end of the rope down the chimney, ordered the cow to eat, and then slowly climbed down the ladder to the ground. With the jittery girl skipping along behind her, she clumped into the hut.

The Toad settled under a tree to wait. It didn't take long.

Later he would describe his disappointment at not seeing the actual event. He was looking in his pack for a chunk of jerky when the cow dove off the roof; whether she was trying to descend the ladder or simply stepped off the thatch, Jacque never knew. He heard a grouchy squawk, a frightened squeak and a strangled moo. When he looked up, the cow hung off the side of the hut, her struggling hooves just off the ground. The rope was taunt from her neck to the chimney and the jittery little girl was bouncing out of the hut.

"Mister! Mister! Please come help! Granny are stuck in the chimbley! The old cow pull her arm up by the rope!"

"Shocking," mumbled Jacque. He ran to the ladder, climbed a couple of rungs and slashed the rope with the knife that hung at his belt. The cow dropped to the ground with a thud; from inside the hut came a crash and a stream of grouchy, old lady profanity. More nimble than any cattle Jacque had ever seen, the cow fairly leapt to her hooves and ran from the hut.

"Motivated animal," the Toad mumbled. Behind the creature bounced the jittery little girl. She lost ground at every step because she kept bouncing back and forth, unable to decide whether to chase the cow or check on Granny.

Jacque jumped off the ladder, intending to enter the hut and check on Granny. He did not need to. The old woman appeared at the door, covered in soot, rubbing her arm, limping and cursing and trailing the rope tied to her wrist. "Girl!" she yelled. "Catch that worthless cow. It are runnin' away for good if you don't." Her decision made for her, the jittery girl bounced into the late afternoon forest in search of the escaping kine.

"'N you!" The woman shouted at the Toad. "You are owe me for the rope you cuts. I never tells you cut it."

Jacque stared at the bruised and filthy crone for a few seconds. Then he sheathed his knife and made her a low bow. He stepped back to the shade tree where he had left his pack, took a few silver pennies from the side pouch, and with another low bow, he handed them over to her.

"Hunh!" she grunted. "Girl! You gets that cow back here. This roof are still grassy. Next rain'll wash her away." She stumbled stiffly past Jacque, bumbling after the jittery girl.

Jacque watched her go. Then he made another low bow in her direction, though she took no notice. He pulled his battered hat onto his balding head, took a long look at the sun, decided which direction would take him back to Morna and strode off that way.

'Maybe,' he thought, 'maybe if I find out who is he, I'll just write my liberator a thank you note.' With a disgusted kick at the dust in the road, Jacque turned his back on the grassy hut and his life of adventure.