"Nearly been the death of me," gulped Carry-on-Merry.
"I think I will go home now," said the Griffin, as he surreptitiously wiped away the last tears and prepared to depart.
"Oh, don't think of leaving us yet," said the Lion.
"Very well," sniffed the Griffin; "perhaps I may be asked to sing again."
"Not if I know it," whispered the Lion in an undertone; "one performance of that nature is quite sufficient for one evening."
At this moment Carry-on-Merry announced that the dogs, wishing to return thanks for the general pleasantness of the party, and being unable to sing themselves, had deputed one of their number, a most intelligent bob-tail sheep-dog, to compose an ode.
This particular dog, it was thought, had some claims as a poet, since he was a lineal descendant of the canine companion who invariably accompanied Robert Burns in all his wanderings.
The three laughing little lions would now sing the ode the bob-tailed sheep-dog had composed, with the general permission of the company.
"Let us hear it," said the Lion.
"Oh! fancy singing after me," remarked the Griffin.