“Of all the crazy notions!” sniffed Amanda.

She was filling glass jars with raspberries out of a kettle on the roaring kitchen stove, while Gabriel screwed down the metal tops, perspiring freely in the super-heated midsummer temperature.

“Pshaw!” said Gabriel, “this here Poet an’ his sister ain’t a bit crazier’n the Professor was. D’ye recollect what the Professor said ’bout ‘the emotional capacities of so-called dumb animals,’—I seem to hear his lingo now,—jest before he went away, after playin’ his flute in the barnyard till pretty near midnight?”

“The Professor was a nice man,” admitted 128Amanda, “but when it came to dealin’ with critters he was crazy as a bedbug.”

“I dunno, Mandy. I sneaked out to th’ barn that night, an’ th’ way th’ cow an’ calf took to th’ Professor’s music made my flesh creep. You know, Mandy, they ain’t nothin’ in natur’ so doggone stubborn an’ foolish as a bull-calf—not even a pig. Well, you ought ‘a’ seen th’ ca’m an’ peaceful way that bull-calf laid his chin on the Professor’s shoulder an’ bla-a-ted softly to himself when th’ slow an’ solemn tunes was bein’ played.”

“Gabe, you tend to them jars an’ quit your jokin’.”

“Honest, Mandy, true as I live an’ breathe. An’ when the Professor see I was lookin’ on, he stopped playin’ an said to me: ‘Gabriel,’ says he, ‘give me time, an’ I’ll teach this bull-calf to sing the doxology.’ An’ I’m darned if I don’t believe he’d ‘a’ done it.”

129“I’ve heard dogs howl when somebody played the fiddle,” observed Amanda, “an’ that’s all there was to it. You can’t say the Professor ever had the crazy notion this here Poet has of givin’ a birthday party to a yearlin’ colt.”

“’T ain’t th’ Poet, Mandy; it’s his red-headed sister. She was out to th’ barn th’ first thing this mornin’, while I was milkin’, an’ braided th’ colt’s mane full of red and blue ribbons. I saw her kiss Clarence on the nose an’ wish him many happy returns o’ th’ day.”

“For the land sakes!” said Amanda.

“She got me to fix up a table in the shade of the old chestnut on th’ lawn, out of a barn door an’ a couple of sawhorses. There’s goin’ to be a birthday dinner at two o’clock, an’ all th’ critters are invited.”

“Be you goin’, Gabe?” inquired Amanda, with subtle sarcasm.

130“Gosh, no! The dog an’ I ain’t speakin’ since that trouble ’bout th’ Golden Guinea eggs. You know it’s reely Napoleon that’s givin’ th’ party.”

“Gabe, you jest go ’long!”

“Honest, Mandy. That’s th’ Poet’s idee. He says th’ dog couldn’t do less after th’ colt savin’ him from that lickin’, ‘count o’ them eggs.”

“Well, I never!” Amanda sat down and fanned herself with her apron.

“Yes; an’ they’s goin’ to be speech-makin’ an’ music. That there artist chap is comin’ out with his banjo, an’ while the critters are eatin’ an’ drinkin’ he an’ th’ Poet with his guitar are goin’ to play duets, jest like they do in them high-toned restaurants down to New York. I heard ’em talkin’ it over when I was fixin’ up the table out under the chestnut.”

“Be you sure the artist-chap’s comin’, 131Gabe?” asked Amanda, all at once losing interest in the main topic.

“W’y, yes. W’y not? Anything wrong, Mandy?”

“I dunno; she’s been treatin’ him awful cool the last few days.”

Gabriel laughed. “I was awful gone on a red-headed girl once myself,—long ’fore I met you, Mandy,—an’ I tell you they keep you guessin’. You never know how to take ’em. It’s always a toss-up what to say or do when you court a red-headed girl. One day you can grab her and kiss her behind the door, an’ she’ll act as if she wanted to thank you for it, an’ the very next day she’ll go into tantrums if you even wink at her. I tell ye, Mandy, my red-headed girl kept me guessin’ which way she’d jump till I got so thin I couldn’t cast a shadder.”

“Served you right,” snapped Amanda. “Men 132are so stupid. I s’pose when you got so thin she could see right through you, she was thankful to settle down as an old maid.”

“No,” said Gabriel solemnly, “she married and proved a great blessin’ to her husband.”

“You don’t say! How could that be?”

“W’y, ye see,” drawled Gabriel, “he was th’ livin’ skeleton in a circus, an’ a month after th’ weddin’ he’d lost so much flesh that they doubled his salary.”

Then they both jumped guiltily at the sound of another voice:—

“May I come into your kitchen, Amanda?”

It was Galatea. She was biting her lips, which were hardly more brilliant than her mass of mahogany hair, and her eyes twinkled.

“I merely wanted to ask Gabriel if he has time to pull some young carrots, turnips, and red beets for our birthday party. George has dug some artichokes for Reginald.” Then she 133added: “Of course you’re coming to the party? There’ll be music, you know—guitar and banjo duets.”

“Sartin, sartin,” said Gabriel with alacrity.

“You’ll want some loaf-sugar for the mare and her colt,” said Amanda, bustling about.

“How good of you! Now I’ll go and give Napoleon his instructions as host of the occasion.”

With the exception of the bull-terrier, all the four-legged members of the family had their noses together in the shade of some willows down by the brook. They were exchanging views on a matter that puzzled them greatly. Cleopatra was apprehensive about the ribbons entwined in Clarence’s mane.

“I’ve half a notion,” she was saying to her gayly decorated colt, “that you and I had better take to our heels till this thing’s over, whatever it means. It’s too much like what I’ve 134seen at the County Fair in my time—yearling colts fixed up that way led off by some strange man and never heard of again.”

“It’s all right, mother,” said Clarence, who was very proud of his ribbons. “You can trust that red-headed girl. When she put these pretty things on me, she laughed and kissed me on the nose. Besides, look at that fool pig.”

Truly, Reginald did look rather foolish with the fine bouquet that was tied in the kink of his tail with a bit of yellow ribbon.

“That’s all I got when I went up to the house to get my back scratched,” grunted Reginald. “But Gustavius was no better off. He wanted that long-legged chap to rub his silly little horns, but was sent away with that jimcrack over his ears.”

Reginald referred to a garland which had given the bull-calf quite an ancient Roman look until Mrs. Cowslip had eaten half of it. But 135this was no more than fair, as Gustavius had done as much for his mother, whose crumpled horn still retained some twisted stems of daisies and dandelions. As for William, no amount of butting could have freed him from the trelliswork of wire, silver foil, and sunflowers of which his sturdy horns were the foundation. He seemed grieved and humiliated over it.

“And you, yourself, mother,” resumed Clarence, “are included in some scheme of general festivity. Never have I seen the luxuriant hair of your tail crimped so beautifully.”

“It may be that the Professor is returning,” suggested Mrs. Cowslip. “I, for my part, shall welcome him warmly.”

“Ah,” said Reginald, “when you mention the Professor I am thrilled by the most delicious memories. I seem to feel his highly cultivated fingers along my grateful spine at this moment.”

136Suddenly Gustavius gave a truculent little bellow, and shook his horns.

“By the fat on my ribs, it’s the dog!” said Reginald, who secretly liked Napoleon as little as did the bull-calf, with memories of sharp teeth nipping his heels; “I marvel at his condescension!”

“What did I tell you, mother?” said Clarence. “No one ever heard of a dog being led off, yet look at the ribbons on Napoleon.”

The terrier was truly a gorgeous spectacle as he trotted proudly down the pasture. A decoration of red, white, and blue ribbons crossed his broad chest diagonally, passing under one foreleg, the two ends being tied in a large bow on his shoulders. The colt advanced to meet him. They had always been staunch friends from their mutual infancy; so friendly, in fact, that when Amanda was away and Clarence expressed 137a desire to go into the kitchen in search of stray tidbits, Napoleon always managed to be looking the other way. Now, as they met, the colt with head lowered and ears pointed forward in token of the utmost amiability and good will, the terrier leaped up, licking his velvet nose and barking eagerly:—

“You are to come up to the house at once, old chum; everything is ready.”

“Is Amanda away, and the kitchen door open?” asked Clarence.

“Oh, this is different,” said Napoleon hastily. “It’s the red-headed girl’s affair. What do you say to young turnips, and carrots, and lumps of sugar afterwards?”

“Will there be enough for mother, too?” asked Clarence, taking care not to speak loud enough to excite anticipations liable to disappointment.

“Yes, for everybody,” barked Napoleon so 138that all could hear; “you’re all to come at once.”

“Well,” grumbled Gustavius, with a shake of his sprouting horns, “you needn’t be so stuck up about it.”

“I had an engagement with the red-headed girl, anyway,” grunted Reginald, starting for the house at a fast trot.

“You just head off that pig, Napoleon, or he’ll make a mess of everything,” said the colt. “Come on, mother!”

With Clarence and Cleopatra in the lead, and Reginald sent squealing back to the rear with Napoleon’s teeth at his heels, the summoned guests proceeded, with rather more decorum than was to be expected, to the banquet table under the old chestnut, where Galatea awaited them smilingly, with outstretched hands. Catching sight of several inviting peck measures on the table, Mrs. Cowslip and Gustavius 139broke into a trot, with the result that the last dozen yards were a neck-and-neck race, except for Reginald, whose fat legs forced him to squeal plaintively along behind. As the guests arrived, Gabriel and Amanda hastened out from the kitchen, while the Poet, doubled up over his guitar, and the Artist, holding his banjo gracefully, with their backs to the chestnut tree, strummed forth a spirited march.

“Napoleon,” said Galatea, “take your place at the head of the table.”

The terrier leaped into the host’s chair, put his paws on the cloth, and awaited further instructions.

“Come, Clarence; as the guest of honor you will stand on Napoleon’s right, and, Cleopatra, your place is by the side of your son.”

With a pat on the nose for each, the girl brought them to their places. Meanwhile Gabriel had coaxed Mrs. Cowslip and Gustavius, 140with William, to places opposite them, while Amanda prudently stood guard over the peck measures. Galatea poured balm upon the wounded feelings of Reginald by inviting him to take the chair at the foot of the table. It was a most fortunate arrangement. The pig would have died rather than show himself inferior to Napoleon in the matter of table manners.

“Galatea, what’s the first course?” sang out the Poet.

“Turnips au naturel, George, with chicken à la Marengo for Napoleon.”

The Poet, for the first time in his life, almost smiled.

“Arthur,” he said, “I think ‘The Battle of Waterloo with Variations’ will go well with Napoleon’s chicken à la Marengo.”

Rendered more than usually docile by the music, the guests ate their turnips decorously 141from the hands of Galatea, Amanda, and Gabriel, while Napoleon, as host, nibbled daintily at his special dish. When the chicken and the turnips had disappeared, the host and his guests looked expectantly at Galatea. Napoleon thumped his short tail against the back of his chair. The music ended with a flourish.

“George,” said Galatea, “Napoleon requests you to make a few appropriate remarks.”

The Poet laid aside his instrument, unfolded his lank limbs, and strode to the side of Napoleon, fixing his earnest gaze on Clarence, the guest of honor, who pricked up his ears. The other guests—whose usual morning indulgence in grass and artichokes had eliminated the fiercer gustatory pangs&............