ave said, and
enjoyed saying, that the voice was of the hit-or-miss variety; that it
was pitched too high (all donkeys make that mistake); that it was harsh,
rasping and unsympathetic, and that altogether the performance was "not
convincing."

Now, Little One, although Buddie was not a professional critic, and
neither knew how to wound nor enjoyed wounding, even _she_ found the
Donkey's voice harsh; but she did not wish to hurt his feelings--for
donkeys _have_ feelings, in spite of a popular opinion to the contrary.
And, after all, it was pretty good singing for a donkey. Critics should
not, as they sometimes do, apply to donkeys the standards by which
nightingales are judged. So Buddie was able to say, truthfully and
kindly:

"I think you do very well; very well, indeed."

It was a small tribute, but the Donkey was so blinded by conceit that he
accepted it as the greatest compliment.

"I _ought_ to sing well," he said. "I've studied methods enough. The
more methods you try, you know, the more of a donkey you are."

"Oh, yes," murmured Buddie, not understanding in the least.

"Yes," went on the Donkey; "I've taken the Donkesi Method, the Sobraylia
Method, the Thistlefixu Method--"

"I'm afraid I don't quite know what you mean by 'methods,'" ventured
Buddie.

The Donkey regarded her with a pitying smile.

"A method," he explained, "is a way of singing 'Ah!' For example, in the
Thistlefixu Method, which I am at present using, I fill my mouth full of
thistles, stand on one leg, take in a breath three yards long, and sing
'Ah!' The only trouble with this method is that the thistles tickle your
throat and make you cough, and you have to spray the vocal cords twice a
day, which is considerable trouble, especially when traveling, as _I_
always am."

"I should think it _would_ be," said Buddie. "Won't you sing something
else?"

"I'm a little hoarse," apologized the singer.

"That's what you want to be, isn't it?" said Buddie, misunderstanding
him.

"Hee-haw!" laughed the Donkey. "Is that a joke? I mean my _throat_ is
hoarse."

"And the rest of you is donkey!" cried Buddie, who could see a point as
quickly as any one of her age.

"There's something to that," said the other, thoughtfully. "Now, if the
_hoarseness_ should spread--"

"And you became _horse_ all over--"

"Why, then--"

"Why, then--"

"Think of another old saw," said the Donkey, picking up his lute.

"No; I don't believe I can remember an