“Never!” He leaped far out from the tree and took her in his arms.
Gustavius gave them one glance and walked away in disgust. Being only a bull-calf, he did not realize that he had accomplished in a single afternoon something which had baffled the little rosy god himself for more than a year.
The sound of voices in the road brought the lovers back to earth.
“It’s all over,” said the Poet, catching sight of them. “Si Blodgett has confessed everything, and his insides don’t hurt him any more.”
Gabriel had intercepted the rural delivery; he gave Galatea a letter bearing a foreign postmark. She tore open the envelope, read two pages, and exclaimed:—
“O George, it’s from the Professor! Just listen to this:—
“‘Finding the cause of the higher education of domestic animals much farther advanced in Germany than in America, I have decided to locate permanently in Berlin, where some promising pupils have been placed in my charge, including a young ram with a wonderful talent for algebra. I am therefore offering for sale the place which you leased from me, at the very reasonable price of seven thousand five hundred to you, knowing that my former pupils will thus continue in good hands.’”
“Too bad,” sighed the Poet; “I’ve often wished I’d been born a plumber.”
“Galatea,” said the Artist, “would you really like to have this place for your own?”
“Oh, Arthur, it makes me weep to think of leaving Gustavius, and Clarence, and Reginald—”