Mrs. Denville's face was very much amused. “I was just thinking, Mary,” she said, “how many points of similarity there are between human beings, and the lower order of animals. These cows are just like us in one respect. They like a quiet, happy home. You remember what an unhappy household there is next us in Boston. The mother delicate and fretful, the servants unruly, the master of the house a tyrant. Their sons hate to come home. I have seen them entering the front door late in the evening with a regretful air, as if they were saying, “I wish I did not have to spend the night here—””
“And papa just hurries home,” concluded Mary, as her mother paused with a slight frown, as if to say, “I should not be talking about my neighbors.”
“How large is the pasture?” asked Mrs. Denville hurriedly of the young man, and as she spoke, she walked to the open door.
“It goes across the river, and away back of that wood, ma'am. You can't see the cows when they are at the further end of it.”
“I should like to walk back there,” said Mrs. Denville. “Would it be too far for you, Mary?”
“Oh, no, mamma,” said my little mistress, but just as we were about to step out through the doorway, Denno said, “Don't you want to look at the oxen, ma'am?”
“Yes, indeed,” replied Mrs. Denville, and she went back into the stable.
Denno proudly opened a half-door that led into a very large stall. There were two enormous creatures in there, and I was quite frightened of them.
“Are they cows?” asked Mary in an awed voice.
“No, oxen,” replied her mother. “They do the work of horses. Are you going to let them out, Denno?”