icious joke, and came in a mood of the utmost hilarity.
At first Billy wanted to break the bottle himself, but upon being told
that girls always did it, he invited a bewitching little maid of seven,
Kathleen Van Osdel, to christen them, while Billy valiantly sat in the
goat-carriage, waiting for Aubrey and Amos to let go of the goats'
horns.

The names were kept a profound secret, but Jimmie had a fashion of
going purple in the face, and pretending he was only going to sneeze.
He walked around among the guests trying to appear unconcerned--which
made me watch him closely.

He had appointed himself master of ceremonies. He it was who put the
Apollinaris bottle into Kathleen's hands, and held her in his arms
while she leaned down and broke the bottle over the horns of the
gentler goat.

Then her childish treble shrilled out:

"I christen thee, Roosevelt and Congress!" she cried out.

"Let go!" shouted Billy, standing up in the goat carriage, his cheeks
like scarlet flowers.

Amos and Aubrey released their hold, Kathleen screamed with excitement,
and away bounded the goats down the driveway, with Sir Wemyss after
them on horseback, for fear anything might happen.

But nothing did happen, and in ten minutes back they came to receive
congratulations from everybody.

"Are they all right, Billy?" I cried.

"Yes, Miss Tats. Congress is just as gentle as can be when you let him
alone. They go splendidly, except when Roosevelt butts. You know he
is always butting into Congress and making trouble."

At that I understood, for Jimmie deliberately rolled on the grass.

"I noticed that peculiarity of the goats," he gasped, when he could
speak, "but if I had trained that child a month, he couldn't have put
it better. It's--it's simply too good to be true!"

Then he went away to explain the joke to Lady Mary.

I think Bee enjoyed the house-party in spite of its gardening flavour,
for we entertained quite a little. At another time I gave a musicale,
and had people out from town; we were invited about while automobiles
snorted and chunked into Peach Orchard at all hours of the day to the
everlasting terror of the cats, who streaked by us and flashed up trees
in simple lines of long gray fur.

It was strange how the cat family resembled human beings, for it was
the young cats, Puffy and Pinkie and Fitz and Corbett, who got used to
the automobiles first, and ceased to run at their approach. Youth is
ever progressive