After about ten days in the woodland glades I brought my charges back to the villa for inspection, according to orders. The inspector was pleased with their condition and commended me. Some of the fellow-herdsmen, off duty, stood or sat about and they seemed to approve. One of them asked: "Have much trouble, Greenhorn?" "Not a bit," I answered. "How'd you like to try to milk one of those cows?" another enquired. "I can milk any one of them," I replied. "I have milked most of them. I've been drinking all the milk I could hold all the while I was out with them." "That's the silliest lie I ever heard," they chorused. "Why, if you tried to handle any one of those cows she'd gore you to death. You couldn't get near enough to the udder of any one of them to get your hand on her teats. Invent a lie we can swallow, or quit bragging. You can't fool us." I kept my temper, scaled the enclosure of the cow-pen, being careful not to make any sudden movement, strolled to the nearest cow, stroked her nose, pulled her ears, walked down her flank, patting her as I went and handled her udder. "What have you to say now?" I called to the gaping yokels. "Try that on another," they shouted back. I did the like with two more. They were dumb. "Hand me a crock," I called, "and I'll get a quart or so of milk, if the calves have left any." When, one handed me a small _olla_ I milked it more than half-full from a dozen cows. I exhibited the milk, offered it to them, and, on their laughingly replying that they were no milk-sops, they preferred wine, I drank most of it. Then I went to the nearest calf, gentled it, picked it up, lifted it onto my back, its legs sticking out in front of me across my shoulders, and paced back and forth along the inside of the fence, the mother following me, licking the calf and lowing, but mild and with no show of anger, let alone any threat of attack on me. Before I put the calf down the superintendent came along. "What's all this?" he queried. "Felix here," he was answered, "is a sort of wizard. He can gentle these cows, he can milk them, and he has been showing off how one will let him carry her calf and yet not get excited." "Can you do as well with bulls, too?" the _Villicus_ enquired. "I think so," I replied. I had put down the calf and climbed out of the cow-pen. "Come along!" the _Villicus_ commanded. We trooped off to a pen where there was a fine breeding-bull all alone. "Get inside, lad!" said the _Villicus_; "that is, if you dare. But be sure you are ready to vault out again, and entirely able to clear the pen." I climbed into the pen and stood. The bull gazed at me, but made no threatening movement and his demeanor was placid. I walked up to him, a pace at a time, patted his nose, pulled his ears, walked round him, stroking him, took hold of the ring in his nose and led him over toward the awestruck gapers: When I climbed out of the pen one man said: "Try him on old Scrofa."