It was later, after lunch was over, and Tess and Dot had wandered into the garden with their dolls. Tess said, reflectively:
"I wish awfully we might help that Mrs. Eland. She's such a lovely lady. And I know the sovereigns of England half by heart already."
Dot was usually practical. "Let's gather her some apples and take them to her," she suggested.
"We-ell," said Tess, slowly. "That won't keep the hospital going, but maybe she likes apples."
"Who doesn't?" demanded Dot, stoutly. "Come on."
When they reached the fall pippin tree which, that year, was loaded with golden fruit, the two little girls were quite startled at what they saw.
"O-o-oh!" gasped Dot. "See Billy Bumps!"
"For pity's sake! what's he doing?" rejoined Tess, in amazement.
The old goat had the freedom of the yard, as the garden was shut away from him by a strong wire fence. He liked apples himself, did Billy Bumps, and perhaps he considered the bagful that Mr. Seneca Sprague had picked up and prepared to carry away, a direct poaching upon his preserves.
Mr. Sprague had reclined on the soft grass under the wide-spreading tree and filled his own stomach to repletion, as could be seen by the cores thrown out in a circle about him. Billy Bumps had approached, eyed the long hair of the "prophet" askance, and finally began to nibble.