t wasn't just a
goat. It was the turn things had taken. One day as he was sitting
watching Tony Cadara milking his goat--wistful boys standing by--Ignace
Silva, just in from a trip, called out, "Government goat yourself!" and
laughed at he knew not what.

By God!--'t was true! A Doane without a vessel. A native who had let
himself be crowded out by ignorant upstarts from a filthy dot in the
sea! A man who hadn't got his bearings in the turn things had taken. Of
a family who had built up a place for other folks to grow fat in. _Sure_
he was the government goat. By just being alive he kept his family from
all the fancy things they might have if he was dead. Could you be more
of a _goat_ than that?

Agnes Cadara and Myrtie came up the street together. He had a feeling
that Myrtie was _set up_ because she was walking along with Agnes
Cadara. Time had been when Agnes Cadara had hung around in order to go
with Myrtie! Suddenly he thought of how his wife had said maybe Agnes
Cadara could wear Myrtie's shoes. He looked at Agnes Cadara's feet--at
Myrtie's. Why, Myrtie looked like a kid from an orphan asylum walking
along with the daughter of the big man of the town!

He got up and started toward town. He wouldn't stand it! He'd show 'em!
He'd buy Myrtie---- Why, he'd buy Myrtie----! He put his hand in his
pocket. Change from a dollar. The rest of the week's pay had gone to Lou
Hibbard for groceries. Well, he could hang it up at Wilkinson's. He'd
buy Myrtie----!

He came to a millinery store. There was a lot of black ribbon strewn
around in the window. He stood and looked at it. Then he laughed. Just
the thing!

"Cheer up, Myrt," said he, when he got back home and presented it to
her. "You can mourn a _little_. For that matter, you've got a _little_
to mourn about."

Myrtie took it doubtfully--then wound it round her throat. She _liked_
it, and this made her father laugh. He laughed a long time--it was as if
he didn't want to be left without the sound of his laughing.

"There's nothing so silly as to laugh when there's nothing to laugh at,"
his wife said finally.

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Joe Doane.

"And while it's very nice to make the children presents, in our
circumstances it would be better to give them useful presents."

"But what's so useful as mourning?" demanded Doane. "Think of all Myrtie
has got to mourn _about_. Poor, poor Myrtie--she's _got_ a father!"

You can say a thing until you think it'