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 oiit 

 a hand to feel her condition she would "scroooh" 

 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 



