with the peculiar complacency which follows the doing of a
disagreeable duty. Goliath had not liked climbing the hill, for a
heavy rain in the morning had turned the clay to stiff mud, and Dr.
Lavendar had not liked calling on Benjamin Wright.

"But, Daniel," said Dr. Lavendar, addressing a small old dog who took
up a great deal more room on the seat of the buggy than he was
entitled to, "Daniel, my boy, you don't consult your likings in
pastoral calls." Then he looked out of the mud-spattered window of the
buggy, at a house by the roadside--"The Stuffed Animal House," Old
Chester children called it, because its previous owner had been a
taxidermist of some little local renown. "That's another visit I ought
to make," he reflected, "but it can wait until next week. G'long,
Goliath!"

Goliath went along, and Mrs. Frederick Richie, who lived in the
Stuffed Animal House, looking listlessly from an upper window, saw the
hood of the buggy jogging by and smiled suddenly. "Thank Heaven!" she
said.

Benjamin Wright had not thanked Heaven when Dr. Lavendar drove away.
He had been as disagreeable as usual to his visitor, but being a very
lonely old man he enjoyed having a visitor to whom to be disagreeable.
He lived on his hilltop a mile out of Old Chester, with his "nigger"
Simmons, his canary-birds, and his temper. More than thirty years
before he had quarrelled with his only son Samuel, and the two men had
not spoken to each other since. Old Chester never knew what this
quarrel had been about; Dr. Lavendar, speculating upon it as he and
Goliath went squashing through the mud that April afternoon, wondered
which was to blame. "Pot and kettle, probably," he decided. "Samuel's