Then they both laughed.
Just then the colt whinnied long and joyously.
“Giddap,” sounded a voice from the road.
A sleek-coated young bull-terrier, very much alert, bounded down the path and stopped suddenly, as though divided between astonishment and indignation at the sight of the cow in the tulip-bed.
“That must be Napoleon,” said Galatea. “Gabriel is returning.”
A spring-wagon, loaded with trunks and boxes, and drawn by an extremely well-fed bay mare, whose driver, stoop-shouldered and sunburnt, perspired uncomfortably in his Sunday clothes, came into view on the driveway beyond the cherry tree, and stopped.
“How do you do, Gabriel?” said Galatea, smiling upon him from the cherry tree.
“Pleased to meet you, Gabriel,” said the Poet affably, from his seat on the grass.
For at least a minute the man in the wagon gazed upon the scene in silence, slowly opening and closing his mouth. Then he jumped down, remarking:—
“Jumpin’ Jehosephat! Sic’em, Napoleon!”