and dropped on the grass: tears of
helpless pain, uncomprehending endurance. "Why have they done this thing
to me?" they seemed dumbly to cry.

"Have you ever seen a cow weep before? Is it comical, at least?"
demanded Marietta, exultant.

"Comical--?" Peter gasped. "Comical--!" he groaned....

But then he spoke to the cow.

"Poor dear--poor dear," he repeated. He patted her soft warm neck, and
scratched her between the horns and along the dewlap.

"Poor dear--poor dear."

The cow lifted up her head, and rested her great chin on Peter's
shoulder, breathing upon his face.

"Yes, you know that we are companions in misery, don't you?" he said.
"They have taken my calf from me too--though my calf, indeed, was only a
calf in an extremely metaphorical sense--and it never was exactly mine,
anyhow--I daresay it's belonged from the beginning to another man. You,
at least, have n't that gall and wormwood added to your cup. And now
you must really try to pull yourself together. It's no good crying. And
besides, there are more calves in the sea than have ever been taken from
it. You'll have a much handsomer and fatter one next time. And besides,
you must remember that your loss subserves someone else's gain--the
farmer would never have done it if it hadn't been to his advantage.
If you 're an altruist, that should comfort you. And you must n't mind
Marietta,--you must n't mind her laughter. Marietta is a Latin. The
Latin conception of what is laughable differs by the whole span of
heaven from the Teuton. You and I are Teutons."

"Teutons--?" questioned Marietta wrinkling her brow.

"Yes--Germanic," said he.

"But I thought the Signorino was English?"

"So he is."

"But the cow is not Germanic. White, with black horns, that is the
purest Roman breed, Signorino."

"Fa niente," he instructed her. "Cows and Englishmen, and all such
sentimental cattle, including Germans, are Germanic. Italians are
Latin--with a touch of the Goth and Vandal. Lions and tigers growl and
fight because they're Mohammedans. Dogs still bear without abuse the
grand old name of Sycophant. Cats are of the princely line of Persia,
and worship fire, fish, and flattery--as you may have noticed. Geese
belong indifferently to any race you like--they are cosmopolitans;
and I've known here and there a person who, without distinction of
nationality, was a duck. In fact, you're rather by way of being a duck
yourself: And now," he perorated, "never deny aga