neither knew how to wound nor enjoyed wounding, even _she_ found the
Donkey's voice harsh; but she did not wish to hurt his feelings--for
donkeys _have_ feelings, in spite of a popular opinion to the contrary.
And, after all, it was pretty good singing for a donkey. Critics should
not, as they sometimes do, apply to donkeys the standards by which
nightingales are judged. So Buddie was able to say, truthfully and
kindly:

"I think you do very well; very well, indeed."

It was a small tribute, but the Donkey was so blinded by conceit that he
accepted it as the greatest compliment.

"I _ought_ 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