The pasture was tenanted by a red and white cow belonging to Sylvanus Cahoon. Whether or not the animal had, during her calfhood days, been injured by a woman is not known; possibly her behavior was due merely to innate depravity. At any rate, she cherished a mortal hatred toward human beings of her own sex. With men and boys she was meek enough, but no person wearing skirts, and alone, might venture in that field without being chased by that cow. What would happen if the pursued one was caught could only be surmised, for, so far, no female had permitted herself to be caught. Few would come even so near as the other side of the pasture walls. Bos'n had forgotten the cow. She had gone from one golden-rod clump to another until she had traversed nearly the length of the field. Then the vicious creature had appeared from behind a knoll in the pasture and, head down and bellowing wickedly, had rushed upon her. When the captain reached the far-off fence, the little girl was dodging from one dwarf pine to the next, with the cow in pursuit. The pines were few and Bos'n was nearly at the end of her defenses. “Help!” she screamed. “Oh, uncle, where are you? What shall I do?” Captain Cy roared in answer. “Keep it up!” he yelled. “I'm a-comin'! Shoot you everlastin' critter! I'll break your back for you!” The cow didn't understand English it seemed, even such vigorous English as the captain was using. Emily dodged to the last pine. The animal was close upon her. Her rescuer was still far away. And then the cemetery gate opened and another person entered the pasture. A small person--a woman. She said nothing, but picking up her skirts, ran straight toward the cow, heedless of the latter's reputation and vicious appearance. One hand clutched the gathered skirts. In the other she held a book. “Don't be scared, dear,” she called reassuringly. Then to the cow: “Stop it! Go away, you wicked thing!” The animal heard the voice and turned. Seeing that the newcomer was only a woman, she lowered her head and pawed the ground. “Run for the gate, little girl,” commanded the rescuer. “Run quick!” Bos'n obeyed. She made a desperate dash from her pine across the open space, and in another moment was safe inside the cemetery fence. “Scat! Go home!” ordered the lady, advancing toward the cow and shaking the book at her, as if the volume was some sort of deadly weapon. “Aren't you ashamed of yourself! Go away! You needn't growl at me! I'm not a bit afraid of you.”