Mildred looked at the farmer boy until he disappeared behind the willow fence, then she began to pack up her things. Presently, she heard some low bellowing, and, looking up, she saw a number of cows, with tails erect, galloping across the fields. They had broken the fence, and were now having a gay frolic on forbidden grounds. Mildred saw that they were making directly for the corner of the pasture where she was. She was afraid of cows, even when they were within the quiet enclosure of the yard, and here was a wild lot apparently coming upon her to destroy her. She crouched, terror stricken, as if to take shelter behind the frail bulwark of her easel.
Then she saw a horse leap through the gap in the fence and come galloping after the cows. On the horse was a girl, not a large girl, but she was riding fearlessly, bare-back, and urging the horse to greater strides. Her black hair was trailing in the wind as she waved a willow switch and shouted lustily at the cows. She managed to head the cows off before they had reached Mildred, rounding them up sharply and driving them back through the breach into the road which they followed quietly homeward. The rider then galloped back to the frightened girl.
"Did the cows scare you?" she asked.
"Yes," panted Mildred. "I'm so frightened of cows, and these were so wild."
"They were just playing. They wouldn't hurt you; but they did look fierce."
"Whose cows were they?"
"They're ours. I have to get them up every day. Sometimes when the flies are bad they get a little mad, but I'm not afraid of them. They know me, you bet. I can milk the kickiest one of the lot."
"Do you milk the cows?"
"Sure—but what is that?" The rider had caught sight of the picture.
"Did you make that?"
"Yes; I painted it."