along the wayside, where the herbage was green and fresh.
Perhaps she was going home to be milked.

"Cow, cow, cow!" cried Cadmus. "Hey, Brindle, hey! Stop, my
good cow!"

He wanted to come up with the cow, so as to examine her, and
see if she would appear to know him, or whether there were any
peculiarities to distinguish her from a thousand other cows,
whose only business is to fill the milk-pail, and sometimes
kick it over. But still the brindled cow trudged on, whisking
her tail to keep the flies away, and taking as little notice of
Cadmus as she well could. If he walked slowly, so did the cow,
and seized the opportunity to graze. If he quickened his pace,
the cow went just so much the faster; and once, when Cadmus
tried to catch her by running, she threw out her heels, stuck
her tail straight on end, and set off at a gallop, looking as
queerly as cows generally do, while putting themselves to their
speed.

When Cadmus saw that it was impossible to come up with her, he
walked on moderately, as before. The cow, too, went leisurely
on, without looking behind. Wherever the grass was greenest,
there she nibbled a mouthful or two. Where a brook glistened
brightly across the path, there the cow drank, and breathed a
comfortable sigh, and drank again. and trudged onward at the
pace that best suited herself and Cadmus.

"I do believe," thought Cadmus, "that this may be the cow that
was foretold me. If it be the one, I suppose she will lie down