The well in the wood

by Bert Leston Taylor

Buddie, however, clung to her former opinion. “I like Sammy Patch the best,” said she.

“That,” rejoined the singer, “is a matter of taste, as the donkey said to the horse who preferred hay to thistles. Usually the public likes best the very piece the composer himself cares least about. So wherever I go I hear, ‘Oh, Professor, do sing us that beautiful song about Sammy Patch.’ And I can’t poke my head inside the Thistle Club but some donkey bawls out, ‘Here’s Bray! Now we’ll have a song. Sing us Sammy Patch, old fellow.’ Really, I’ve sung that song so many times I’m tired of the sound of it.”

“It must be nice to be such a favorite,” said Buddie.

“Suppose we go up to the Corner and see what’s stirring,” suggested the Donkey, with a yawn.

“Oh, are you going up to the Corner, too?” cried Buddie. “I am to meet the Rabbit there at two o’clock. I hope it isn’t late.”

The Donkey glanced skyward.

“It isn’t noon yet,” said he.

THEY SET OFF THROUGH THE WOOD

“How do you tell time?” inquired Buddie.