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 added: “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 seen 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.”