“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 that 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 broke 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.”