'Is it me, or is it not me? No, it can never be me; it must be some
great strange bird. But what shall I do to find out whether it is me
or not. Oh! I know how I shall be able to tell whether it is me; if
the calves come and lick me, and our dog Tray doesn't bark at me when
I get home, then it must be me, and no one else.'

Now, Tray, her dog, had scarce set his eyes on the strange monster
which came through the gate, than he set up such a barking, one would
have thought all the rogues and robbers in the world were in the
yard.

'Ah, deary me', said she, 'I thought so; it can't be me surely.' So
she went to the straw-yard, and the calves wouldn't lick her, when
they snuffed in the strong smell of tar. 'No, no!' she said, 'it
can't be me; it must be some strange outlandish bird.'

So she crept up on the roof of the safe and began to flap her arms,
as if they had been wings, and was just going to fly off.

When her husband saw all this, out he came with his rifle, and began
to take aim at her.

'Oh!' cried his wife, 'don't shoot, don't shoot! it is only me.'

'If it's you', said her husband, 'don't stand up there like a goat on
a house-top, but come down and let me hear what you have to say for
yourself.'

So she crawled down again, but she hadn't a shilling to shew, for the