'We have four alder bushes and sixteen tufts of grass,' rejoined Maie.
'Yes, of course,' laughed Matte, 'and we have also three plants of garlic. Garlic would be fine feeding for her.'
'Every cow likes salt herring,' rejoined his wife. 'Even Prince is fond of fish.'
'That may be,' said her husband. 'Methinks she would soon be a dear cow if we had to feed her on salt herring. All very well for Prince, who fights with the gulls over the last morsel. Put the cow out of your head, mother, we are very well off as we are.'
Maie sighed. She knew well that her husband was right, but she could not give up the idea of a cow. The buttermilk no longer tasted as good as usual in the coffee; she thought of sweet cream and fresh butter, and of how there was nothing in the world to be compared with them.
One day as Matte and his wife were cleaning herring on the shore they heard Prince barking, and soon there appeared a gaily painted boat with three young men in it, steering towards the rock. They were students, on a boating excursion, and wanted to get something to eat.
'Bring us a junket, good mother,' cried they to Maie.
'Ah! if only I had such a thing!' sighed Maie.
'A can of fresh milk, then,' said the students; 'but it must not be skim.'
'Yes, if only I had it!' sighed the old woman, still more deeply.