"Is it me or some one else?" said she. "No, it cannot be me. It must be
a strange bird. How shall I find out whether it is me or not? Oh, I
know. When I get home, if the calves lick me, and the dog does not bark
at me, then it is me myself."

The dog had no sooner seen her than he began to bark, as if there were
thieves and robbers in the yard.

"Now," said she, "I see it is not me."

She went to the cow-house but the calves would not lick her, for they
smelt the strong tar.

"No," said she, "I see it cannot be me. It must be some strange bird."

So she crept up to the top of the barn, and began to flap her arms as if
they had been wings, and tried to fly. Her husband saw her, so he came
out with his gun and took aim.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot," called his wife. "It is me."

"Is it you?" said the man. "Then don't stand there like a goat. Come
down and tell me what account you can give of yourself."

She crept down again; but she had not a shilling, for she had lost the
mark the butcher had given her while she was drunk.

When the man heard that he was very angry, and declared he would leave
her, and never come back again until he had found three women as big