She hadn't mentioned me, but I didn't care for that, knowing Mrs. Gunning as I did. I should have followed if she Hadn't beckoned to me, for I was as determined to see the affair through as she was to finish it. We had to go down that long path from the front sally-port to the street, and then turn into the field at the foot of the hill, where the fort stables are. Mrs. Gunning talked all the time about cattle, flourishing her parasol and flashing her diamonds and emeralds in the sun, and telling Dr. McCurdy she had intended to ask his opinion about them ever since his arrival on the island. He answered yes, and no, and seemed to be thinking of anything but cattle. Mackinac cows tinkled their bells in every thicket. But Mrs. Gunning's pets were brought in morning and afternoon to clean, well-lighted stalls. There they stood in a row, sleek as if they had been curried--and I have heard that she did curry them herself--all switching natural tails except one. And, as sure as you live, that cow had a false tail that Mrs. Gunning had made for her! She took hold of it and showed it to us. It did not seem very funny to Dr. McCurdy, but he had to listen to what she said. “Spotty was a fine cow, but by some accident she had lost her tail, and I got her cheaper on that account,” says Mrs. Gunning. “You don't know how distressing it was to see her switching a stump. So I made her a tail of whalebone and India-rubber and yarn. I knit it myself.” The poor fellow looked up at the fort and said: “Yes. It is very interesting/ Mrs. Gunning.” “I am aware,” says she, “that the expedient was never hit upon before. But Spotty's brush is a great success. It used to make me unhappy to think of leaving this post. All the other cows might find good homes with new owners; but who would care for Spotty? Since I have supplied her deficiency, however, and know that the supply can constantly be renewed, my mind is easy about her. If you ever have to knit a cow's tail, doctor, remember the foundations are whalebone and India-rubber; and I would advise you to use the coarsest yarn you can find for the brush.” “I will, Mrs. Gunning,” he says, like a man who wanted to lie down in the straw and die. And I couldn't laugh and relieve myself, because it was like laughing at him. “Now that shows,” says Mrs. Gunning, and she pounced at him and shook her parasol in his face so vigorously that she ripped in the back the same as a chrysalis, “how easy it is to remedy a seemingly incurable injury.” If he didn't understand her then, he did afterwards. But he looked as if he couldn't endure it any longer, and made for the door. “Stop, Dr. McCurdy,” says she. “You haven't heard these cows' pedigrees.” He stopped, and said: “How long are the pedigrees?”