So she waved her green wand over the poppy and changed her into a little red fairy.
“Now,” she said, “you can live for ever with your friend. Goodbye, dear children,” and she slipped away on the wings of the wind.
So now the bull had his poppy fairy always with him, and in the summer she rode upon his horns, and in the cold weather she sat inside his ear, just where the velvety soft hairs are. And in all the world there is not a more merry beautiful fairy than she, or a happier bull than he.
THE SACRED BULL.
Buttercup and Daisy stood at the edge of the pond in the cow-field. It was very hot and Daisy was cross—the flies worried her so. She stood with her two fore-feet in the water—her mother had told her not to—but as I said before, Daisy was cross, and when little calves are cross, and the weather is warm and the water is cold, they don’t always do as they are told.
Buttercup didn’t put her feet in the water. You see Buttercup was not cross.
“Oh, those flies!” said Daisy, whisking her tail round and putting it into Buttercup’s eye by mistake. Buttercup began to cry and gave her sister a little shove with her new horns, which were just growing, and Daisy fell on her knees in the mud.
