“It was bending them before the Sacred Bull,” said Daisy.
“Sacred Bull, indeed! sacred cabbage-stalks. Lie down and go to sleep, Daisy, and mind you don’t fill your sister’s head with any nonsense about Sacred Bulls!”
Daisy did as she was told, but just as she was dropping off to sleep, she gave a little shake of joy. “Why,” she said, “I don’t mind! I don’t believe any calf ever had such an adventure before.”
And I am sure she was right.
OUR COW’S COW FIGHT.
It was our Sussex brown cow who told me all this, so I am sure it is true. If you had ever seen our Sussex brown you would know how very truthful she is. I used sometimes to go to her house, and sit by the door in the evening, after milking-time, and listen to the stories she would tell me. She knew many very different stories but she was most fond of this one. I will tell it to you just as she used to tell it to me.
“You know, my dear,” she would begin, “I did not always live at this farm. I used to belong to a very rich farmer, who had a large farm in Sussex. I was born and bred in Sussex—the best place for a cow to be born in, I can tell you—and it was only three or four years ago that I came to live here. Well, we used to be driven into one field in the morning and taken back to our houses in the evening, and in that field there was an old black horse. I believe he stayed there night and day, for I never saw him taken into a stable. He was very black and had no doubt been handsome in his day, but he was getting very old, although he always pretended to be as young and gay as ever. He would come up to us when we were grazing and start clearing his throat. Did I hear you laugh, my dear?” she said suddenly looking at me rather sadly out of her velvety-brown eyes. “Horses, like men, clear their throats to draw attention when they are going to speak.”
“What did the horse do when he had cleared his throat?” I asked.