When the goats arrived in Jeffersonville the two heavy crates
were hauled to Alderman Toole's back yard to await the opening of
the park, and there Mayor Dugan and Goat Keeper Fagan came to
inspect them. Alderman Toole led the way to them with pride, and
Mayor Dugan's creased brow almost uncreased as he bent down and
peered between the bars of the crates. They were fine goats.
Perhaps they looked somewhat more dejected than a goat usually
looks--more dirty and down at the heels than a goat often looks--
but they were undoubtedly goats. As specimens of ordinary Irish
goats they might not have passed muster with a careful buyer, but
no doubt they were excellent examples of the dongola.

"Ye have done good, Mike," said the mayor. "Ye have done good!
But ain't they mebby a bit off their feed--or something?"

"Off their feed!" said Toole. "An' who wouldn't be, poor
things? Mind ye, Dugan, thim is not common goats--thim is
dongolas--an' used to bein' in th' wather con-continuous from
mornin' till night. 'Tis sufferin' for a swim they be, poor
animals. Wance let thim git in th' lake an' ye will see th'
difference, Dugan. 'Twill make all th' difference in th' worrld
t' thim. 'Tis dyin' for a swim they are."

"Sure!" said the Keeper of the Water Goats. "Ye have done good,
Mike," said the mayor again. "Thim dongolas will be a big
surprise for th' people."

They were. They surprised the Keeper of the Goats first of all.
The day before the park was to be opened to the public the goats