or in a bare place, and seemed to
be talking to each other with their heads close together. Suddenly
one would jump down, and start for the bushes or the other side of the
pasture. They would all follow pell-mell; then in a few minutes they
would come rushing back again. It was pretty to see them playing
together and having a good time before the sorrowful day of their death
came.

CHAPTER XXX A JEALOUS OX

MR. WOOD had a dozen calves that he was raising, and Miss Laura
sometimes went up to the stable to see them. Each calf was in a crib,
and it was fed with milk. They had gentle, patient faces, and beautiful
eyes, and looked very meek, as they stood quietly gazing about them, or
sucking away at their milk. They reminded me of big, gentle dogs.

I never got a very good look at them in their cribs, but one day when
they were old enough to be let out, I went up with Miss Laura to the
yard where they were kept. Such queer, ungainly, large-boned creatures
they were, and such a good time they were having, running and jumping
and throwing up their heels.

Mrs. Wood was with us, and she said that it was not good for calves to
be closely penned after they got to be a few weeks old. They were better
for getting out and having a frolic. She stood beside Miss Laura for
a long time, watching the calves, and laughing a great deal at their
awkward gambols. They wanted to play, but they did not seem to know how
to use their limbs.

They were lean calves, and Miss Laura asked her aunt why all the nice
milk they had taken had not made them fat. "The fat will come all in
good time," said Mrs. Wood. "A fat calf makes a poor cow, and a fat,
small calf isn't profitable to fit for sending to the butcher. It's
better to have a bony one and fatten it. If you come here next summer,
you'll see a fine show of young cattle, with fat sides, and big,
open horns, and a good coat of hair. Can you imagine," she went on,
indignantly, "that any one could be cruel enough to torture such a
harmless creature as a calf?"

"No, indeed," replied Miss Laura. "Who has been doing it?"

"Who has been doing it?" repeated Mrs. Wood, bitterly; "they are doing
it all the time. Do you know what makes the nice, white veal one gets
in big cities? The calves are bled to death. They linger for hours, and
moan their lives away. The first time I heard it, I was so angry that
I cried for a day, and made John promise that he'd never send another
animal of his to a