But he said never a word.
"What's the matter with you?" she asked him. "Can't you speak when you're spoken to? Have you nothing to say?"
It appeared that he had. "I was thinking," he stammered, "what a pity it is that you lost your horns."
The Muley Cow gave a sort of snort.
"Don't be a ninny!" she cried. "I never lost my horns. I never had any to lose. That's why they call me the Muley Cow."
Billy Woodchuck sat as still as a mouse and never took his eyes off her. It gave the Muley Cow a queer turn to be looked at so steadily. It made her fidget and squirm.
"Well! well!" she exclaimed. "How strangely you act! What's the trouble with you? Are you ill?"
"No!" said Billy Woodchuck. "I was only thinking what a long face you have."
"Nothing of the sort!" the Muley Cow spluttered. "It's my opinion that you can't see well. There must be something wrong with your eyes. And I haven't a doubt that the trouble is just this: You've eaten too much clover."