The triumphant foster mother turned to the calf and anxiously smelled it all over to make sure it had not been hurt.

And the rash cow in the water, boiling with wrath, but afraid to risk a second encounter, picked herself up from among the lily pads and shambled off after her retreating party.
"As the summer deepened, however, the calf began to feel and act more like a moose calf--to go silently and even to absorb some of her foster mother's smell.

The other moose began to get used to her, even quite to tolerate her; and, the wild creatures generally ceased to regard her as anything but a very unusual kind of moose.

Of course, she _thought_ she _was_ a moose.

She grew strong, sleek and nimble-footed on her foster mother's abundant milk, and presently learned to browse on the tender leaves and twigs of the fresh green shrubbery.