SAINT LAUNOMAR had once been a shepherd boy in the meadows of sunny
France, and had lived among the gentle creatures of the fold and byre.
So he understood them and their ways very well, and they knew him for
their friend. For this is a secret which one cannot keep from the
animals whose speech is silent.
Saint Launomar had a cow of whom he was fond, a sleek black and white
beauty, who pastured in the green meadows of Chartres near the monastery
and came home every evening to be milked and to rub her soft nose
against her master's hand, telling him how much she loved him. Mignon
was a very wise cow; you could tell that by the curve of her horns and
by the wrinkles in her forehead between the eyes; and especially by the
way she switched her tail. And indeed, a cow ought to be wise who has
been brought up by a whole monastery of learned men, with Launomar, the
wisest person in all the country, for her master and friend.
It was a dark night after milking time; Launomar had put Mignon in her
stall with a supper of hay before her, and had bade her good-night and a
pleasant cud-time. Then he had shut the heavy barn door and had gone
back to his cell to sleep soundly till morning.
But no sooner had his lantern disappeared through the gate of the
monastery, than out of the forest came five black figures, creeping,
creeping along the wall and across the yard and up to the great oak
door. They were all muffled in long black cloaks, and wore their caps
pulled down over their faces, as if they were afraid of being
recognized. They were wicked-looking men, and they had big knives stuck
in their belts quite convenient to their hands. It was a band of
robbers; and they had come to steal Launomar's cow, who was known to be
the handsomest in all that part of the world.
Very softly they forced open the great door, and very softly they stole
across the floor to Mignon's stall and threw a strong halter about her
neck to lead her away. But first they were careful to tie up her mouth
in a piece of cloth so that she could not low and tell the whole
monastery what danger she was in. Mignon was angry, for that was just
what she had meant to do as soon as she saw that these were no friends,
but wicked men who had come for no good to her or to the monastery.
But now she had to go with them dumbly, although she struggled and
kicked and made all the noise she could. But the monks were already
sound asleep and snoring on their hard pallets, and never suspected what
was going on so near to them. Even Launomar, who turned over in his
sleep and murmured, "Ho, Mignon, stand still!" when he dimly recognized
a sound of kicking,--even Launomar did not waken to rescue his dear
Mignon from the hands of those villains who were taking her away.
The robbers led her hurriedly down the lane, across the familiar meadows
and into the dense woods, where they could hide from any one who
happened to pass by. Now it was dark and they could see but dimly where
they were going. The paths crossed and crisscrossed in so many
directions that they soon began to quarrel about which was the right
one to take. They did not know this part of the country very well, for
they were strangers from a different province, who had come to
Launomar's home because they had heard of his famous cow and were bound
to have her for themselves.
Very soon the robbers were lost in the tangle of trees and bushes and
did not know where they were, or in which direction they ought to go.
One said, "Go that way," pointing towards the north. And one said, "No,
no! Go _that_ way," pointing directly south. The third grumbled and
said, "Ho, fellows! Not so, but _this_ way," and he strode towards the
east. While the fourth man cried, "You are all wrong, comrades. It is
_there_ we must go," and he started to lead Mignon towards the west. But
the fifth robber confessed that indeed he did not know.
"Let us follow the cow," he cried; "she is the only one who can see in
the dark. I have always heard that animals will lead you aright if you
leave the matter to them." Now as the other robbers really did not have
the least idea in the world as to which was the right direction, this
seemed to them as sensible a plan as any. So they stripped the halter
from Mignon's head and said, "Hi, there! Get along, Cow, and show us the
way."
Mignon looked at them through the dark with her big brown eyes, and
laughed inside. It seemed too good to be true! They had left her free,
and were bidding her to guide them on their way out of the forest back
to their own country. Mignon chuckled again, so loudly that they thought
she must be choking, and hastily untied the cloth from her mouth. This
was just what she wanted, for she longed to chew her cud again. She
tossed her head and gave a gentle "Moo!" as if to say, "Come on, simple
men, and I will show you the way." But really she was thinking to
herself, "Aha! my fine fellows. Now I will lead you a pretty chase. And
you shall be repaid for this night's work, aha!"
Mignon was a very wise cow. She had not pastured in the meadows about
Chartres with blind eyes. She knew the paths north and south and east
and west through the forest and the fern; and even in the dark of the
tangled underbrush she could feel out the way quite plainly. But she
said to herself, "I must not make the way too easy for these wicked men.
I must punish them all I can now that it is my turn."
So she led them roundabout and roundabout, through mud and brambles and
swamps; over little brooks and through big miry ponds where they were
nearly drowned,--roundabout and roundabout all night long. They wanted
to rest, but she went so fast that they could not catch her to make her
stand still. And they dared not lose sight of her big whiteness through
the dark, for now they were completely lost and could never find their
way out of the wilderness without her. So all night long she kept them
panting and puffing and wading after her, till they were all worn out,
cold and shivering with wet, scratched and bleeding from the briars, and
cross as ten sticks.
But when at last, an hour after sunrise, Mignon led them out into an
open clearing, their faces brightened.
"Oh, I think I remember this place," said the first man.
"Yes, it has a familiar look. We must be near home," said the second.
"We are at least twenty-five miles from the monks of Chartres by this
time," said the third, "and I wish we had some breakfast."
"By another hour we shall have the cow safe in our home den," said the
fourth, "and then we will have some bread and milk."