Anyone born under the astrological sign
of Sagittarius might recognize him as a relation to the centaur. But
MacDonald Lindsay claimed no such heritage formally. "Lambert," he said,
putting a beefy hand on the shoulder of one of his workers, who happened
to be a foreman among the wartfrogs.
"Yeah?" asked the amphibian.
"Who is the little unicorn? The one I see out there in my fields? I have
seen her other times, too."
"I know no name for her," sighed the wartfrog. "My boys and I have seen
her before, though. She only takes a few pods--and only those extreme
few that my boys don't consider worthy of picking or trading in your
name. Those that she takes are all too small or have already been picked
over by the crows. We had once considered making a scarecrow--an
inanimate one, of course. Not like the guy who usually comes to mind
when we think of scarecrows. But that little unicorn seems to get what
she needs from our leftovers, so no one has bothered to send her on her
way."
"So she only takes that which is rejected from my farm?"
replied MacDonald doubtfully.
[Illustration]
"Well," began the worker, "please don't be angry with me. There have
been a couple of occasions that I have taken pity on the poor creature
and left a few better pods for her to find.
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