There was never such a busy little girl. When work was slack in the kitchen, there was the dairy to keep her in occupation. Brigid herself loved the dairy, and, mindful of her own young days, gave Darlugdacha the freedom of it early. In the delicious dawn-hour, when the sisters, one and all, went out to the milking, there was never a happier young thing, whether among the lambs, or the birds, or the flowers, than the tiny white maiden who trotted between Brigid and Daria, with each hand in one of theirs, laughing back at Kinnia and Blathnata, who carried the wooden milking vessels between them. She knew each of the cows by name, and she would call them out in her clear voice the moment she passed out of the door of the Lios, and came in sight of the “badhun” (bawn, _lit._ cow-fort), into which the cattle were driven each night for safety. And when the gate of the badhun was reached, there they were waiting for her—Bainidhe and Breacaidhe, and Sgead and Riabhac, and all the others, lowing in answer. And the sound of their bells put the birds on the tops of the apple-trees of the Lios, to shame. It happened, however, one morning, that when Darlugdacha got to the gate of the badhun, she found among the waiting, lowing herd, no Bainidhe—the little white cow with the red ears, which was her special pet. It seemed that two lepers had come to Brigid the day before, and the sight of their miserable condition so prevailed with the compassionate Abbess that she promised to give them the best cow in her byre, leaving the choice to them. Of course, it naturally fell on Bainidhe. Darlugdacha’s soft little heart was torn by two emotions when she heard the explanation of Bainidhe’s absence. She was dreadfully sorry, to be sure, for the poor lepers, whom she had learned to pray for night and morning. But, I fear me, she was far more sorry for Bainidhe, driven away from her nice, juicy pasturage, and the fragrant breath, and the lowing of her companions, and the warm shelter of the badhun—and the stroking of a little girl’s soft hand. It was the turn of Brigid herself, that day, to drive the cows, after milking, from the badhun, and herd them in the Curragh. Usually, Darlugdacha would be out of herself with delight when it was proposed, as it was now, that she should go with her. But to-day it was clear that the delights of a day with the dear mother, all to herself, in the glorious plain, were overshadowed by the loss of Bainidhe. So Brigid told Kinnia to take Darlugdacha back with her to the dairy, and let her help to skim the cream, and stand as near as ever she liked to the cuinneog (churn), when the loinid (churn-dash) was beating the white milk-waves into flying froth—which, on ordinary occasions, was not considered a suitable place for a little girl, who had a white tunic to keep clean.