the flask had dropped out of my knapsack when I swung it through the undergrowth, but, rather than go back, I determined to spend another fifty cents the next day, provided that I could do so without drawing upon myself unjust suspicion.

The next day—ah, with what emotion I write those words! How little do we dream, as we close our eyes in peaceful slumber, what the next day may bring forth! Careless, happy, even whistling as was my wont, I performed my simple household tasks, rejoicing in the fragrant morning air, the cheery chatter of the Squirrels, and the progress of the pan of bread I was baking over my open fire.

From the woods at the left came a brisk breeze. Someone seemed to be airing a blanket such as I have described above. Before I had time to investigate, a huge white ball rolled toward me, with no visible means of propulsion. There was no incline and the speed of it was tremendous. Deep, pointed excavations marked the trail over which it came, and my hair was raised far beyond the potential power of the lost tonic. So swiftly that I was breathless with wonder, the thing rolled into my fire.

Then there was a shrill cry of pain, but the momentum was too great, and it went straight on through, stopping on the other side of my woodland hearthstone, singed, and apparently dead. Trembling with excitement, I made my way toward it, but before I could offer my sympathetic assistance, it had assorted itself and was standing up on four singed and shaky legs.

It was Jagg.

How a Goat had penetrated that fastness, where the hands of few white men had ever trod, was beyond me, but it was a condition and not a theory which confronted me. Here, at my hospitable door, so lately made desolate by the departure of Tom-Tom and Little Upsidaisi, was a new and wonderful creature. The singeing had overpowered the Indian blanket motif and made way for the softer notes of the hair tonic. Jagg was plainly intoxicated, and immediately upon my recognition of it, I named him.

His suffering was pathetic. The burns were merely superficial, but he was very much soiled, and his head was swollen far beyond its normal limits. His tongue, which he promptly offered for my inspection, was dark brown and fuzzy. He sat down, stroked his brow wearily with one of his four feet (fore, if you prefer), and stuttered out an hysterical bleat.

My friends in the telegraph office used to characterise me occasionally as a Goat, and I am not prepared to admit that there is not 

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