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
_hoarseness_ should spread--"

"And you became _horse_ all over--"

"Why, then--"

"Why, then--"

"Think of another old saw," said the Donkey, picking up his lute.

"No; I don't believe I can remember any more old saws," said Buddie,