"But I lost my pretty little one! The sweet clover enticed me away. When I came back she was gone! I saw through the bars the rope wound about her. I saw the cart. I saw the cruel men lift her in. She made a mournful noise. I cried out, and thrust my head over the rail, calling, in language she well understood, 'Come back! O, come back!'
"She looked up with her round, sorrowful eyes and wished to come, but the rope held her fast! The man cracked his whip, the cart rolled away; I never saw her more!
"No, little girl, I cannot take your wisp of hay. It reminds me of the silliest hour of my life,—of a day when I surely made myself a fool. And on that day, too, I was offered by a little girl a bunch of grass and flowers.
"It was a still summer's noon. Not a breath of air was stirring. I had waded deep into the stream, which was then calm and smooth. Looking down I saw my own image in the water. And I perceived that my neck was thick and clumsy, that my hair was brick-color, and my head of an ugly shape, with two horns sticking out much like the prongs of a pitchfork. 'Truly, Mrs. Cow,' I said, 'you are by no means handsome!'
"Just then a horse went trotting along the bank. His hair was glossy black, he had a flowing mane, and a tail which grew thick and long. His proud neck was arched, his head lifted high. He trotted lightly over the ground, bending in his hoofs daintily at every footfall. Said I to myself, 'Although not well-looking,—which is a great pity,—it is quite possible that I can step beautifully, like the horse; who knows?' And I resolved to plod on no longer in sober cow-fashion, but to trot off nimbly and briskly and lightly.
"I hastily waded ashore, climbed the bank, held my head high, stretched out my neck, and did my best to trot like the horse, bending in my hoofs as well as was possible at every step, hoping that all would admire me.
"Some children gathering flowers near by burst into shouts of laughter, crying out, 'Look! Look!' 'Mary!' 'Tom!' 'What ails the cow?' 'She acts like a horse!' 'She is putting on airs!' 'Clumsy thing!' 'Her tail is like a pump-handle!' 'O, I guess she's a mad cow!' Then they ran, and I sank down under a tree with tears in my eyes.
"But one little girl stayed behind the rest, and, seeing that I was quiet, she came softly up, step by step, holding out a bunch of grass and clover. I kept still as a mouse. She stroked me with her soft hand, and said,—
"'O good Moolly Cow, I love you dearly; for my mother has told me very nice things about you. Of course, you are not handsome. O no, O no! But then you are good-natured, and so we all love you. Every day you give us sweet milk, and never keep any for yourself. The boys strike you sometimes, and throw stones, and set the dogs on you; but you give them your milk just the same. And you are never contrary like the horse, stopping when you ought to go, and going when you ought to stop. Nobody has to whisper in your ears, to make you gentle, as they do to horses; you are gentle of your own accord, dear Moolly Cow. If you do walk up to children sometimes, you won't hook; it's only playing, and I will stroke you and love you dearly. And if you'd like to know, I'll tell you that there's a wonderful lady who puts you into her lovely pictures, away over the water.'
"Her words gave me great comfort, and may she never lack for milk to crumb her bread in! But O, take away your wisp of hay, little girl; for you bring to mind the summer days which are gone, and my pretty bossy, that was stolen away, and also—my own folly."