s himself, and trotted
indignantly to drive her out. Our mother caught sight of him from an
upper window, and knowing that the temper of the cow was not to be
trusted, she called wildly to Jem, "Come in, dear, quick! Come in!
Dolly's loose!"

"I drive her out!" was Master Jem's reply; and with his little straw
hat well on the back of his head, he waddled bravely up to the cow,
flourishing his stick. The process interested me, and I dried my tears
and encouraged my brother; but Dolly looked sourly at him, and began to
lower her horns.

"Shoo! shoo!" shouted Jem, waving his arms in farming-man fashion, and
belabouring Dolly's neck with the stick. "Shoo! shoo!"

Dolly planted her forefeet, and dipped her head for a push, but catching
another small whack on her face, and more authoritative "Shoos!" she
changed her mind, and swinging heavily round, trotted off towards the
field, followed by Jem, waving, shouting, and victorious. My mother got
out in time to help him to fasten the gate, which he was much too small
to do by himself, though, with true squirely instincts, he was trying to
secure it.

But from our earliest days we both lived on intimate terms with all the
live stock. "Laddie," an old black cart-horse, was one of our chief
friends. Jem and I used to sit, one behind the other, on his broad back,
when our little legs could barely straddle across, and to "grip" with
our knees in orthodox fashion was a matter of principle, but impossible
in practice. Laddie's pace was always discreet, however, and I do not
think we should have found a saddle any improvement, even as to safety,
upon his warm, satin-smooth back. We steered him more by shouts and
smacks than by the one short end of a dirty rope which was our apology
for reins; that is, if we had any hand in guiding his course. I am now
disposed to think that Laddie guided himself.

But our beast friends were many. The yellow yard-dog always slobbered
joyfully at our approach; partly moved, I fancy, by love for us, and
partly by the exciting hope of being let off his chain. When we went
into the farmyard the fowls came running to our feet for corn, the
pigeons fluttered down over our heads for peas, and the pigs humped
themselves against the wall of the sty as tightly as they could lean, in
hopes of having their backs scratched. The long sweet faces of the
plough horses, as they turned in the furrows, were as familiar to us as
the faces of any other labourers in our