“But, mother,” interrupted Clarence,—for the colt was young and Cleopatra was an indulgent parent,—“there are none of the cow kind in our family except Mrs. Cowslip and Gustavius. You can see for yourself that they are both alive.”
“Haven’t I told you, my son, that out in the great world beyond the stone fence—which you may visit some day when you are older—there are many families like ours, including the cow kind?”
“Now I understand, mother; perhaps some Gustavius of the great world beyond the stone fence has met with a violent death, and our Gustavius and his mother feel some intimation of it in the breeze which comes from that direction.”
“My son,” said Cleopatra, with a proud glance at her offspring, “I see daily evidences that the development of your intelligence does credit to my teaching. Doubtless you have hit upon the right solution of this mystery. Observe: Mrs. Cowslip and her son, as they graze, proceed steadily in the direction of the stone fence. It would not surprise me if you should soon see with your own eyes some such ceremony as I have mentioned.”
Cleopatra and Clarence continued their nibbling in silence, while each kept one speculative eye upon the comrades whom they considered so far beneath them. William evidently had pleasurable anticipations, also, for he postponed his usual morning observation of the surrounding country from the woodshed roof. Presently he was observed to rear his horns aloft and stamp one foot menacingly.
“Look at that fool goat, mother,” said Clarence. “He’s forever looking for trouble.”
Cleopatra raised her head and looked off down the road. Then she went on quietly nibbling.
“Can you see anything, mother?” asked Clarence, who was thrilling with curiosity.
“Nothing, my son—nothing but that strange young man in the buggy that runs without my assistance.”
“Gracious!” exclaimed the colt, kicking up his heels gleefully. “Now we’ll have fun.”