Yet deeplier lies
Than any misery of dull despair
The fear that you may some day come to prize
The things I stand for, when I am not there
To fill your needs with all my sympathies.
M. M.
THE DOING OF THE LAMBS
By SUSAN SAYRE TITSWORTH
"Well, so long, fellows," said the Goat, and rose to go.
"Good-night, old man," responded the cheerful chorus of his hosts. As the Goat went out into the hall there was silence in the room he had left, which lasted until after he had opened the hall door and had had time to close it.
But instead of closing it, he merely bumped noisily against it, and rattled the knob, and stood listening. As if his departure were a signal, a roar of laughter from within followed his stratagem. One voice rose above the noise.
"By George!" it said. "Isn't he the limit?"
The Goat closed the door silently and mounted the stairs to his own room in the apartment above. His suspicions were confirmed.
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