"No, I do not see!" replied the squirrel, stoutly. "And I don't believe there is anything to see, I don't. So there, now!"
At this point Madam interfered, and with a few gentle words made the matter clear, and smoothed the ruffled feathers—or rather fur.
The raccoon, who had been listening with ears pricked up, and keen eyes glancing from one to the other of the disputants, now murmured, "Ah, yes! very explicit. Quite what I should have said myself!" and relapsed into his former attitude of graceful and dignified ease.
The squirrel repeated to himself, "Moo! low! loo! mow! moo!" several times, shook his head, refreshed himself with a nut, and finally, at the general request, continued his story:
So, as I said, this young cow was very sad, and she looed—I mean mowed—all day to express her grief. And she thought, "If I could only know where my calf is, it would not be quite so dreadfully bad. But they would not tell me where they were taking him, though I asked them politely in seven different tones, which is more than any other cow here can use."
Now, when she was thinking these thoughts it chanced that the maid came to milk the cows, and with the maid came a young man, who was talking very earnestly to her.
"What is it, Molly?" says he. "Doesn't thee know me well enough?"