He and I were playing on the grass-plat before the house when Dolly, an ill-tempered dun cow we knew well by sight and name, got into the garden and drew near us.

As I sat on the grass--my head at no higher level than the buttercups in the field beyond--Dolly loomed so large above me that I felt frightened and began to cry.

But Jem, only conscious that she had no business there, picked up a stick nearly as big as himself, and trotted indignantly to drive her out.

Our mother caught sight of him from an upper window, and knowing that the temper of the cow was not to be trusted, she called wildly to Jem, "Come in, dear, quick! Come in! Dolly's loose!" "I drive her out!" was Master Jem's reply; and with his little straw hat well on the back of his head, he waddled bravely up to the cow, flourishing his stick.

The process interested me, and I dried my tears and encouraged my brother; but Dolly looked sourly at him, and began to lower her horns.
"Shoo! shoo!" shouted Jem, waving his arms in farming-man fashion, and belabouring Dolly's neck with the stick.