‘Gee on, Lightfoot; now, Daisy; come up, Cherry,’ and the cows gave their heads a toss, and walked slowly through the stream.
The Princess hurried to one side of the road, for, like many people, she had an instinctive dread of anything like a cow or a bull.
The old man noticed it and smiled.
‘Oh, you needn’t be afraid, miss, they won’t hurt you,’ he said; but all the same, she didn’t care to go too near them. ‘They’ve just been frightened by Wopole, King Mumkie’s falconer,’ he went on. ‘Wopole came running round the corner suddenly, and almost knocked Lightfoot—that’s the dun cow—over. He was roaring out “Where is she?” awfully loud. I pity her when he gets her, whoever she is.’
‘But who is she?’ asked the Princess.
‘I don’t know—how should I?’
‘Oh, I only thought you might know. But what will he do with her when he gets her?’
‘I don’t know; fry her in lard or something—that’s what they generally do to strangers in the town now.’
‘Oh dear!’ said the Princess; ‘how am I to get away from him?’