THE RED COW 



deals with the fourteen youngsters and their mother 

 in the same way and for a few minutes the roof is 

 covered with squeaking, sprawling, protesting tur- 

 keys. As he pecks them out of his way he walks 

 along the ridge-board to his chosen roosting place 

 and when he finally reaches it he stretches his neck 

 arrogantly while the others scramble back to the top 

 and settle down for the night. When they have 

 settled down the old bully settles down also with as 

 much dignity as a dowager who has disturbed a 

 whole seatful of music lovers at a concert or opera. 

 You needn't tell me that there isn't something human 



about a gobbler that does such things as that. 

 * * * * 



Then there is the little cow — the one whose praises 

 I have sung as the Kerry cow. You would think 

 to look at her that butter wouldn't melt in her 

 mouth. She looks like a pet and to a large extent 

 has been a pet. At first she wouldn't allow any one 

 but me to milk her and would bawl if I attended to 

 any of the other cows first. You never saw a more 

 demure, harmless and even helpless looking bit of 

 a thing in your life. Yet she is a base deceiver. 

 She needs more watching than any cow on the place. 

 Not only is she more prone to mischief than old 



