“Why!” said Daisy, “it’s just a field. Don’t you know what a field is? This is a field too, but it’s not as nice as our field.”
“Say ‘my lord’ when you speak to me,” said the bull, “and bend your knees. All people bow down before me wherever I go.”
“But I’m sure our cows won’t be always bending their knees in the field,” said Daisy, trying to bend hers as she spoke, and only hurting herself rather badly, besides looking silly.
“Then I certainly shan’t come!” said the bull. “What do you have to eat there?”
“We eat the flowers and the sweet green grass—my lord,” said Daisy.
“Common green grass!” shrieked the bull, “why, look here!” and he took hold of Daisy to make her look into his stall. It was painted in white and gold, and in one corner there was a large shining bowl of polished wood, filled with beautiful fresh vegetables.
“What do you think of that?” said the bull. “Go home, little cowlet, to your old field. When I go out people bend their knees before me, and give me sweet things to eat, and make beautiful noises in my honour, while you are driven along by a boy with a stick—ah! it’s something to be a Sacred Bull of Burma I can tell you!” and he put his head back into his stall and would not speak again.
Daisy turned away and walked sadly home. She felt very angry with the bull and very sorry that she had taken so much trouble for him. When she got home she told her Mother all about it.
“Of course!” said her Mother, “never meddle with other people. And, my dear little calf, what have you done to your knees?” she cried, beginning to lick Daisy’s knees, for they looked a little sore still.