132 BIRDS AND POETS 
evil moment, I resolved to part with her and try 
another. In an evil moment I say, for from that 
time my luck in cattle left me. The goddess never 
forgave me the execution of that rash and cruel 
resolve. 
The day is indelibly stamped on my memory when 
I exposed my Chloe for sale in the public market- 
place. It was in November, a bright, dreamy, In- 
dian summer day. A sadness oppressed me, not 
unmixed with guilt and remorse. An old Irish 
woman came to the market also with her pets to 
sell, a sow and five pigs, and took up a position next 
me. We condoled with each other; we bewailed 
the fate of our darlings together; we berated in 
chorus the white-aproned but blood-stained frater- 
nity who prowled about us. When she went away 
for a moment I minded the pigs, and when I strolled 
about she.minded my cow. How shy the innocent 
beast was of those carnal marketmen! How she 
would shrink away from them. When they put out 
a hand to feel her condition she would “scrooch ” 
down her back, or bend this way or that, as if the 
hand were a branding-iron. So long as I stood by 
her head she felt safe — deluded creature! — and 
chewed the cud of sweet content; but the moment 
I left her side she seemed filled with apprehension, 
and followed me with her eyes, lowing softly and 
entreatingly till I returned. 
At last the money was counted out for her, and 
her rope surrendered to the hand of another. How 
that last look of alarm and incredulity, which I 
