him from the sea.

Out of the door they flew, right over the Shepherd's astonished head,
while his wife stared wildly at the empty cradle. And soon Keneth was
lying in his own nest on the ledge above the roaring billows.

After this no one tried again to bring the gulls' adopted baby back
among human folk. Little Keneth tarried and thrived with his feathered
brothers, growing fat and strong. When he came to walk he was somewhat
lame, to be sure; one of his legs was shorter than the other, and he
limped like a poor gull who has hurt his foot. But this troubled Keneth
very little, and the gulls were kind. He was always happy and contented,
full of singing and laughter and kind words for all.

And here in his wild, spray-sprinkled nest above the Atlantic breakers,
Keneth dwelt all his life. The Welsh peasants of the Gower peninsula
revered him as their Saint, knowing him to be a holy man beloved by the
gulls and the deer and all the wild creatures of shore and forest, who
did their kindly best to make him happy.

SAINT LAUNOMAR'S COW

SAINT LAUNOMAR had once been a shepherd boy in the meadows of sunny
France, and had lived among the gentle creatures of the fold and byre.
So he understood them and their ways very well, and they knew him for
their friend. For this is a secret which one cannot keep from the
animals whose speech is silent.

Saint Launomar had a cow of whom he was fond, a sleek black and white
beauty, who pastured in the green meadows of Chartres near the monastery
and came home every evening to be milked and to rub her soft nose
against her master's hand, telling him how much she loved him. Mignon
was a very wise cow; you could tell that by the curve of her horns and
by the wrinkles in her forehead between the eyes; and especially by the
way she switched her tail. And indeed, a cow ought to be wise who has
been brought up by a whole monastery of learned men, with Launomar, the
wisest person in all the country, for her master and friend.

It was a dark night after milking time; Launomar had put Mignon in her
stall with a supper of hay before her, and had bade her good-night and a
pleasant cud-time. Then he had shut the heavy barn door and had gone
back to his cell to sleep soundly till morning.

But no sooner had his lantern disappeared through the gate of the
monastery, than out of the forest came five black figures, creeping,
creeping along the wall and across the yard and up to the great oak