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

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