e buried her in the
vegetable garden. We thought gooseberries would come up, but they
didn't. Nothing came up but feathers."

"That's very curious," said Davy.

"Curious, but comfortable," replied the Cow. "You see, it makes a
feather-bed in the garden. The pig sleeps there, and calls it his quill
pen. Now _I_ think that pigpens should be made of porcupine quills."

"So do I," said Davy, laughing. "What else is there in the garden?"

"Nothing but the bean-stalk," said the Cow. "You've heard of 'Jack and
the Bean-stalk,' haven't you?"

"Oh! yes, indeed!" said Davy, beginning to be very much interested. "I
should like to see the bean-stalk."

"You can't _see_ the beans talk," said the Cow, gravely. "You might
_hear_ them talk; that is, if they had anything to say, and you listened
long enough. By the way, that's the house that Jack built. Pretty, isn't
it?"

Davy turned and looked up at the house. It certainly was a very pretty
house, built of bright red brick, with little gables, and dormer-windows
in the roof, and with a trim little porch quite overgrown with climbing
roses. Suddenly an idea struck him, and he exclaimed:--

"Then you must be the Cow with a crumpled horn!"

"It's not crumpled," said the Cow, with great dignity. "There's a slight
crimp in it, to be sure, but nothing that can properly be called a
crump. Then the story was all wrong about my tossing the dog. It was
the cat that ate the malt. He was a Maltese cat, and his name was
Flipmegilder."

"Did you toss _him_?" inquired Davy.

"Certainly not," said the Cow, indignantly. "Who ever heard of a cow
tossing a cat? The fact is, I've never had a fair chance to toss
_anything_. As for the dog, Mother Hubbard never permitted any liberties
to be taken with _him_."

"I'd dearly love to see Mother Hubbard," said Davy, eagerly.

"Well, you can," said the Cow, indifferently. "She isn't much to see. If
you'll look in at the kitchen window you'll probably find her performing
on the piano and singing a song. She's always at it."

Davy stole softly to the kitchen window and peeped in, and, as the Cow
had said, Mother Hubbard was there, sitting at the piano, and evidently
just preparing to sing. The piano was very remarkable, and Davy could
not remember ever having seen one like it before. The top of it was
arranged with shelves, on which stood all the kitchen crockery, and in
the under part of it, at one end, was an oven with glass doors, through
whic