she would, at any rate, stand
next to her.

Directly after Brindle came Crookhorn, with a self-important air and
making herself as tall as possible. But Brindle was in no mood for
seeing the funny side of things to-day, so she lunged out with one of
her long hind legs and gave Crookhorn a blow on the head that made the
prideful goat see stars. But Crookhorn merely tossed her head and went
on as if nothing had happened. Such actions, she thought, were probably
customary among cows.

The head milkmaid kept on calling, and the cows, one after another,
hearing her voice, started toward her. Soon the whole noisy herd, led
by the deep-toned bell and urged by shouts and flourishing of sticks,
was going in full swing toward the north meadow.

Up in the meadow, which they reached after a while, the ground was
level and there was plenty of room, so that the danger of collisions
and other accidents was lessened. The young creatures danced around in
wild play, and those of the cows who had not settled the question of
mastery fought now a battle that was to be decisive for the whole
summer. Soon, however, everything became quiet again, and in a couple
of hours all of the animals, even the worst combatants, were grazing
placidly side by side.

After this the farm people began to go home,--all except the head
milkmaid and Lisbeth, who were to remain a while longer so as to be on
hand in case anything happened. And something did happen. Brindle,
whose quiet behavior had been only temporary, soon began to rove
uneasily back and forth, sniffing hard. _She_ was really the one who
ought to be wearing the bell, she sniffed to herself; and then
suddenly, with a violent rush, she hurled herself at the bell cow. Such
a fight as there was then! The turf flew in all directions. Soon a
sharp crack was heard, and a short, wild bellow, and one of Brindle's
horns hung dangling.

Brindle shook her head till the blood splashed; then, giving another
bellow, she turned and ran the shortest way home as fast as her legs
could carry her, never stopping until she had reached the cow-house
door. There she gave vent to a terrible bellowing, as if she wanted to
bring all the farm buildings down over the people's ears.

* * * * *

After dinner the calves were let out. Lisbeth had finally named the
three cow calves Yellow Speckle, Redsides, and Young Moolley, but as
yet she had found no name to suit her for the