Phoebe obeyed, but in evident trepidation, and casting many nervous glances at the dreaded cows, until the girls had passed the next stile.
“Cows don’t bite, silly Phoebe!” said Rhoda, rather patronisingly, from the height of her two years’ superiority in age.
“But they toss sometimes, don’t they?” tremblingly demanded Phoebe.
“What nonsense!” said Rhoda, as they rounded the Maidens’ Lodge.
Little Mrs Dorothy sat sewing at her window, and she nodded cheerily to her young guests as they came in.
“What do you think, Mrs Dolly?—good evening!” said Rhoda, parenthetically. “If this foolish Phoebe isn’t frighted of a cow!”
“Sure, my dear, that is no wonder, for one bred in in the town,” gently deprecated Mrs Dorothy.
“So stupid and nonsensical!” said Rhoda. “I say, Mrs Dolly, are you afraid of anything?”
“Yes, my dear,” was the quiet answer.
“Oh!” said Rhoda. “Cows?”