ed to mistake it,
for he came down upon the lawn, rose to his full height, on his "hind
legs," and in that humanlike posture "walked" in a wide circle. He did
this with an affectation of conscientiousness thoroughly hypocritical;
for he really meant to be humorous.

"My heavens!" Mr. Atwater cried, lamenting. "Somebody's given her one of
those things at last! I don't like _any_ kind of dog, but if there's one
dam thing on earth I _won't_ stand, it's a trick poodle!"

And while the tactless Gammire went on, "walking" a circle round him,
Mr. Atwater's eye furiously searched the borders of the path, the lawn,
and otherwheres, for anything that might serve as missile. He had never
kicked a dog, or struck one with his hand, in his life; he had a theory
that it was always better to throw something. "Idiot poodle!" he said.

But Gammire's tricks were not idiocy in the eyes of Mr. Atwater's
daughter, as she watched them. They had brought to her mind the tricks
of the Jongleur of Notre Dame, who had nothing to offer heaven itself,
to mollify heaven's rulers, except his entertainment of juggling and
nonsense; so that he sang his thin jocosities and played his poor tricks
before the sacred figure of the Madonna; but when the pious would have
struck him down for it, she miraculously came to life just long enough
to smile on him and show that he was right to offer his absurd best. And
thus, as Julia watched the little Jongleur upon the lawn, she saw this
was what he was doing: offering all he knew, hoping that someone might
laugh at him, and like him. And, not curiously, after all, if everything
were known, she found herself thinking of another foolish creature, who
had nothing in the world to offer anybody, except what came out of the
wistfulness of a foolish, loving heart. Then, though her lips smiled
faintly as she thought of Noble Dill, all at once a brightness trembled
along the eyelids of the Prettiest Girl in Town, and glimmered over, a
moment later, to shine upon her cheek.

"You get out!" Mr. Atwater shouted, "D'ye hear me, you poodle?"

He found the missile, a stone of fair diameter. He hurled it violently.

"_There_, darn you!"

The stone missed, and Gammire fled desperately after it.

"You get over that fence!" Mr. Atwater cried. "You wait till I find
another rock and I'll----"

He began to search for another stone, but, before he could find one,
Gammire returned with the first. He deposited it upon the ground a