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was mistaken."



"I paint dairy cows, certainly," admitted Eshley,

"but I cannot claim to have had any experience in



rounding-up stray oxen. I've seen it done on a cinema

film, of course, but there were always horses and lots of



other accessories; besides, one never knows how much of

those pictures are faked."



Adela Pingsford said nothing, but led the way to her

garden. It was normally a fair-sized garden, but it



looked small in comparison with the ox, a huge mottled

brute, dull red about the head and shoulders, passing to



dirty white on the flanks and hind-quarters, with shaggy

ears and large blood-shot eyes. It bore about as much



resemblance to the dainty paddock heifers that Eshley was

accustomed to paint as the chief of a Kurdish nomad clan



would to a Japanese tea-shop girl. Eshley stood very

near the gate while he studied the animal's appearance



and demeanour. Adela Pingsford continued to say nothing.

"It's eating a chrysanthemum," said Eshley at last,



when the silence had become unbearable.

"How observant you are," said Adela bitterly. "You



seem to notice everything. As a matter of fact, it has

got six chrysanthemums in its mouth at the present



moment."

The necessity for doing something was becoming



imperative. Eshley took a step or two in the direction

of the animal, clapped his hands, and made noises of the



"Hish" and "Shoo" variety. If the ox heard them it gave

no outwardindication of the fact.



"If any hens should ever stray into my garden," said

Adela, "I should certainly send for you to frighten them



out. You 'shoo' beautifully. Meanwhile, do you mind

trying to drive that ox away? That is a MADEMOISELLE



LOUISE BICHOT that he's begun on now," she added in icy

calm, as a glowing orange head was crushed into the huge



munching mouth.

"Since you have been so frank about the variety of



the chrysanthemum," said Eshley, "I don't mind telling

you that this is an Ayrshire ox."



The icy calm broke down; Adela Pingsford used

language that sent the artist instinctively a few feet



nearer to the ox. He picked up a pea-stick and flung it

with some determination against the animal's mottled



flanks. The operation of mashing MADEMOISELLE LOUISE

BICHOT into a petal salad was suspended for a long



moment, while the ox gazed with concentrated inquiry at

the stick-thrower. Adela gazed with equal concentration



and more obvioushostility at the same focus. As the

beast neither lowered its head nor stamped its feet



Eshley ventured on another javelin exercise with another

pea-stick. The ox seemed to realise at once that it was



to go; it gave a hurried final pluck at the bed where the

chrysanthemums had been, and strodeswiftly up the



garden. Eshley ran to head it towards the gate, but only

succeeded in quickening its pace from a walk to a



lumbering trot. With an air of inquiry, but with no real

hesitation, it crossed the tiny strip of turf that the



charitable called the croquet lawn, and pushed its way

through the open French window into the morning-room.



Some chrysanthemums and other autumn herbage stood about

the room in vases, and the animal resumed its browsing



operations; all the same, Eshley fancied that the

beginnings of a hunted look had come into its eyes, a



look that counselled respect. He discontinued his

attempt to interfere with its choice of surroundings.



"Mr. Eshley," said Adela in a shaking voice, "I

asked you to drive that beast out of my garden, but I did



not ask you to drive it into my house. If I must have it

anywhere on the premises I prefer the garden to the



morning-room."

"Cattle drives are not in my line," said Eshley; "if



I remember I told you so at the outset." "I quite

agree," retorted the lady, "painting pretty pictures of



pretty little cows is what you're suited for. Perhaps

you'd like to do a nice sketch of that ox making itself



at home in my morning-room?"




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