when I tried to get them home, I couldn't. At last, after infinite
trouble, I managed to drive them up on to the trail, which was so
narrow there was but one thing for a rational creature to do, and
that was to go ahead. Then, if you'll believe me, those idiots kept
bleating and getting under the horse's fore-feet; finally, one of
them, the champion simpleton, tumbled over into the canyon, and I
tied the legs of the other one together, and carried him home on the
front of my saddle.'

'They are innocent, any way,' insisted Margery. 'I won't believe
they're not. I can't bear these people who interfere with all your
cherished ideas, and say that Columbus didn't discover America, and
Shakespeare wasn't Shakespeare, and William Tell didn't shoot the
apple.'

'Nevertheless, I claim that the lamb is not half so much an emblem of
innocence as he is of utter and profound stupidity. There is that
charming old lyric about Mary's little lamb; I can explain that.
After he came to school (which was an error of judgment at the very
beginning), he made the rumpus, you know -


"And then the teacher turned him out,
But still he lingered nee-ar,
And waited patiently about
Till Mary did appee-ar."


Of course he did. He didn't know enough to go home alone.