“Um!” replied the Donkey. “To sum up the arguments: if the hen came first, it presupposes the existence of the egg; whereas, if the egg came first, it presupposes the existence of the hen—neither of which presuppositions agrees with the other in gender, number or case.”
“Nothing could be clearer,” cried both Doctors.
“Therefore, in the matter of bear and grin, as of hen and egg, I firmly believe—I always have believed—and nothing I may hereafter read, hear or think can alter my opinion—that BOTH CAME TOGETHER!”
Even Buddie joined in the applause that followed this remarkable decision, which put an end to the dispute for all time. The rival Doctors embraced each other, exclaiming, “Why didn’t we think of that?” and everybody congratulated the Donkey upon his profound wisdom and clear reasoning. And, to do him justice, he accepted the praise with uncommon modesty.
What is that, Little One? Didn’t the hen lay the egg? Very likely. But I shouldn’t think any more about it, if I were you. A great many grown-ups have puzzled over this problem until their minds became a perfect jumble of eggs and hens, and their brains turned into omelets. After all, the Donkey’s explanation is as good as another’s; and I am not at all sure it isn’t the right one.
CHAPTER XII
THE FLIGHT OF THE LOON
“Maybe you would like to sing something?” the Great Huge Bear said to the Donkey. “You do sing so beautifully.”
“With pleasure,” was the response, “if you will despatch one of the servants for my lute.... And now,”—when the lute was fetched—“what shall it be?”
“Sammy Patch,” whispered Buddie.