CHAPTER VII.

It seemed to Tommy as if the Gopher would never get enough. The little boy had never before witnessed such voracity. By actual count he had seen seventeen plates of soup vanish into his neighbor's system, and yet there was no apparent ill effect. The Gopher threw each empty dish under the table, so that the pile of crockery was now so high in front of his chair that he could rest his feet on it.

"Really," said Tommy at last, "I never saw such a greedy thing as you in all my life."

"I can't help it," answered the Gopher, complacently; "the eating question is a most important one, and I'm afraid they'll all get up and say dinner is over before I've had half enough."

"It seems to me that you have had more than enough. And, besides, I have an aunt who says one should always arise from the table hungry."

"Never you mind that Ant," said the Gopher. "Ants don't count. They are so little they can't hold anything, anyhow. As for getting up from the table hungry, that is something I cannot understand. I always sit down hungry: and it would never do to be hungry at both ends of the meal, now would it?"

On reflection Tommy did not think it would, and as he had been more than half inclined at the outset toward the Gopher's view of the case, they soon agreed on this point. Then the little animal said,

"Thtsnawflyfnnyunsnt?"

"I can't understand you when you talk with your mouth full," replied Tommy.

The Gopher made a great effort, and swallowed so hard that his eyes fairly bulged. Then he said,

"That's an awfully funny one, isn't it?"

"What one?"

"The one next to you."

"Him?" said Tommy, pointing at the ex-Pirate.

"Um," continued the Gopher, nodding his head, for his mouth was full again. "Ain't he?"

"He is a very nice gentleman," remarked Tommy, for lack of anything more definite to say.

"What kind is he?" asked the Gopher.

"He's an ex-Pirate."

"A Pie Rat? Goodness, how he has changed!"

"Oh yes, he has changed," continued Tommy. "He is very good now. He has entirely reformed."

"I should say he had. His form is entirely different. I knew a Pie Rat once, but he was not at all like this one. _He_ does not look like a Pie Rat at all."

"Oh yes he does!" exclaimed Tommy, eagerly, although he realized as soon as he had spoken that he had never seen any real active pirate. But he added, "He is all fixed up just like a real pirate."

"Well, he isn't," said the Gopher, dictatorially. "The Pie Rat I knew looked like any other rat, but he only ate pie. Does this one eat pie?"

"Did you say rat?" asked Tommy.

"I said Pie Rat," answered the Gopher.

"Well, you don't want to let him hear you say rat. You must say ex-Pirate; that means that he is not a pirate any more."

"That's just what I said," persisted the Gopher. "I said he did not look like a Pie Rat, and so he is not a Pie Rat, and that's all there is to it." Then he threw up his hands and shouted, "Oh my! look at that!"

Tommy glanced up toward the head of the table, and saw that the Lion was helping himself to fully half of what had been placed before him.

"What a lot he takes!" remarked the little boy, in surprise.

"Always," said the Gopher. "But it's the Lion's share, and I suppose he is entitled to it. I wish I was a Lion."

"I don't," said Tommy, hastily, for he felt that he much preferred a small animal like the Gopher for a neighbor to a possible Lion.

"Well, I don't really believe I would like to be a Lion, after all," the Gopher went on to say. "If I could make myself all over again, I should be part Elephant, part Camel, and part Giraffe."

"What a funny-looking creature you would be!"

"Oh, I would not mind that. I don't care much about appearances. Eating is what interests me."

"I should think so," commented Tommy.

"And then think of the advantages of such a combination," pursued the Gopher. "If I were part Elephant I should be as big as any animal; and if I were part Camel I should have four stomachs; and then I should want a Giraffe's neck. Just think of how long things taste good in a Giraffe's throat. Why, it's two yards long! And mine is only about half an inch. How many times better does a piece of pie taste to a Giraffe than it does to me?"

"I don't know," answered Tommy Toddles, very promptly.

"Well, I've figured it all out many a time," added the Gopher, "and I can tell you. A throat two yards long is twice thirty-six inches long, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"That's seventy-two inches. And if my throat is only half an inch long, the Giraffe's throat is one hundred and forty-four times as long as mine, and so the pie tastes one hundred and forty-four times as good."

Tommy marvelled at the Gopher's proficiency in arithmetic, but his mind soon reverted to the question at hand, and he began to wonder how much better pie would taste if his own neck was one hundred and forty-four inches long. He was going to ask his neighbor for further information on the subject, but when he turned around toward the Gopher he saw that the little animal had in some way gotten possession of the soup-tureen, and had thrust his head into it, and was almost drowning because he could not get it out. And then, just as the ex-Pirate and Tommy had rescued the Gopher from a soupy grave, the Lion arose at the head of the table, and pounded loudly on the board and called the assembled multitude to order.

When silence had spread over the room, the King of Beasts announced that the Goat had eaten the passenger list and other important notices off the bulletin board, and that it was thus impossible for him as toast-master to know who was present and who was not, and so he could not call on any one by name to make a speech. He added, however, that any one who desired to make a speech might do so, or, instead of a speech, any animal could sing a song or tell a story. Having made this announcement, the Lion sat down again; and all the animals glared frowningly upon the Goat, who stroked his whiskers nervously and looked embarrassed, either because of these rebuking glances or possibly because of the antediluvian ink on the passenger list.

"I feel awfully sorry for that Goat," whispered the Gopher to Tommy.

"Why don't you get up and make a speech then, and distract the general attention?"

"I don't know any speech," answered the Gopher; "but I know a joke."

"Tell the joke," urged Tommy; and so the Gopher stood up in his chair, and took off his pink sun-bonnet, and said he wanted to tell his joke.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

A STORY OF CORN-BREAD AND CROWS.

BY DORA READ GOODALE.

Two sportsmen one morning, right dashing to view In velvet and buckskin from helmet to shoe. Were passing the field where the river runs by, When they chanced in the distance a figure to spy-- Such a figure as farmers, from time out of ken, Convinced that in clothes is the measure of men, Have fashioned in spring-time of brushwood and hay For the cheating of Solons more crafty than they.

"Sir Scarecrow; behold him!" the first hunter cries-- "What a marvel of rags which a Jew would despise! Here's a fig for the bird that so witless appears When he's lived among Yankees a good fifty years-- If the fowl really flies that his corn-bread would miss For a wooden-legged, broken-backed puppet like this! Come, choose a few nubbins to roast on the spot, While I pepper his crown with a capful of shot."

Now the farmer that morning was tilling his soil, Flushed, ragged, and sunbrowned, and grimy with toil, When pausing a moment, as all farmers will, He spied our two friends coming over the hill. "Good land!" quoth the rustic, "a nice thing it is Fer two city fellers to ketch me like this!" Then, dropping his hoe, he exclaims with a grin, "Young chaps, I'll be blessed ef I don't take you in!"

So, urging his slow wits to cope with the case, He jerks his old hat down to cover his face, Stretches limb like a windmill that spreads to the breeze, Draws his fists up like turtles and stiffens his knees; Yet a tremor of fun through the homespun appears As the sound of that parley floats back to his ears, And the honest ears burn as it calls up the words Which declare that in plumes is the making of birds!

One moment the huntsman his target surveys, While his laughing companion is gleaning the maize, When that fetich of bumpkins, that burlesque in bran, Starts, twitches, grows limber, shouts, moves--is a man; "Git enough fer a roast, while ye're gittin'," drawls he. "Ef I ain't quite the blockhead you tuk me to be. W'y, it's nater sence Adam to run arter clo'es, But _I'd go sort o' slow as to corn-bread an' crows_!"

HOW REDDY GAINED HIS COMMISSION.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES A. CURTIS, U.S.A.