OUR RURAL DIVINITY 123 
her and those that have not, but yielded their alle- 
giance without crossing. I remember such a one 
among my father’s milkers when I was a boy, — 
a slender-horned, deep-shouldered, large-uddered, 
dewlapped old cow that we always put first in the 
long stable, so she could not have a cow on each side 
of her to forage upon; for the master is yielded to 
no less in the stanchions than in the yard. She 
always had the first place anywhere. She had her 
choice of standing-room in the milking-yard, and 
when she wanted to lie down there or in the fields 
the best and softest spot was hers. When the herd 
were foddered from the stack or barn, or fed with 
pumpkins in the fall, she was always first served. 
Her demeanor was quiet but impressive. She never 
bullied or gored her mates, but literally ruled them 
with the breath of her nostrils. If any new-comer 
or ambitious younger cow, however, chafed under 
her supremacy, she was ever ready to make good 
her claims. And with what spirit she would fight 
when openly challenged! She was a whirlwind of 
pluck and valor; and not after one defeat or two 
defeats would she yield the championship. The 
boss cow, when overcome, seems to brood over her 
disgrace, and day after day will meet her rival in 
fierce combat. 
A friend of mine, a pastoral philosopher, whom 
I have consulted in regard to the master cow, thinks 
it is seldom the case that one rules all the herd, if 
it number many, but that there is often one that 
will rule nearly all. ‘Curiously enough,” he says, 
