progress of her search, at the door of one of the cow-houses. The
moment she looked round the corner into the stall next the door, she
stood stock-still, with her mouth wide open. This stall was occupied by
a favourite cow--brown, with large white spots, called therefore
_Brownie_. Her manger was full of fresh-cut grass; and half-buried in
this grass, at one end of the manger, with her back against the wall,
sat Annie, holding one of the ears of the hornless Brownie with one
hand and stroking the creature's nose with the other.

She was a delicate child, about nine years old, with blue eyes, half
full of tears, hair somewhere between dark and fair, gathered in a silk
net, and a pale face, on which a faint moon-like smile was glimmering.
The old cow continued to hold her nose to be stroked.

"Is na Broonie a fine coo, Betty?" said the child, as the maid went on
staring at her. "Puir Broonie! Naebody mindit me, an' sae I cam to you,
Broonie."

And she laid her cheek, white, smooth, and thin, against the broad,
flat, hairy forehead of the friendly cow. Then turning again to Betty,
she said--

"Dinna tell auntie whaur I am, Betty. Lat me be. I'm best here wi'
Broonie."

Betty said never a word, but returned to her mistress.

"Whaur's the bairn, Betty? At some mischeef or ither, I'll wad."

"Hoot! mem, the bairn's weel eneuch. Bairns maunna be followed like
carr (calves)."

"Whaur is she?"

"I canna jist doonricht exackly tak upo' me to say," answered Betty;
"but I hae no fear aboot her. She's a wise bairn."

"Ye're no the lassie's keeper, Betty. I see I maun seek her mysel'.
Ye're aidin' an' abettin' as usual."

So saying, Auntie Meg went out to look for her niece. It was some time
before the natural order of her search brought her at last to the
_byre_. By that time Annie was almost asleep in the grass, which the
cow was gradually pulling away from under her. Through the open door
the child could see the sunlight lying heavy upon the hot stones that
paved the yard; but in here it was so dark-shadowy and cool, and the
cow was such good, kindly company, and she was so safe hidden from
auntie, as she thought--for no one had ever found her there before, and
she knew Betty would not tell--that, as I say, she was nearly asleep
with comfort, half-buried in Brownie's dinner.

But she was roused all at once to a sense of exposure and insecurity.
She looked up, and at the same moment the hawk-nose of her aunt came