So the milch-goats went astray-- That's the short and long of it; While they laughed the hours away-- That's the right and wrong of it; Till the white wings ceased to strive, Till the brown bee sought the hive; "Wonderful!" they said--and I've Made a silly song of it. * * * * * JOBSON'S. "Is it a bad one?" I said. "It's just one of my headaches," said the lady of the house. "But some of your headaches," I said, "are different from others. Some----" "This," she said, "is one of the different ones." "Is it like those you have when Mrs. Martlet comes to collect on behalf of the Chimney-Sweeps' Aid Society? I mean, will it yield to treatment in about an hour?" "No," she groaned; "it's even worse than those. It's all over my head." "Oh, but if that's the sort I'm all sympathy. Only tell me what I can do. Are cold compresses any good? Or the doctor? It might be measles, you know. All the best people have measles now. Real measles, I mean; not the German sort. Shall I start isolating you? They tell me I'm a first-class isolater." "No," she said, "don't do that. It sounds so heartless." "Well," I said, "if there's anything else in reason I'm your man." "I want you," she said, "to go to London." "To London?" I said. "Of course I'll go. It's the very place I'm wanting to go to. In fact, I was going there anyhow; only when you said you'd got a headache I thought I'd stay here and help to cool your brow." "But why," she murmured, "were you going to London anyhow?" "Because," I said, "I've bought a season ticket. When the ticket-collector comes round I shan't fumble in all my pockets, or scrabble on the floor, or get red and nervous. I shall just sit tight without looking at him and whisper 'Season' from behind my penny _Times._ I've always wanted to be like that, and now I am it." "But will you get your money's worth out of it?" "Yes," I said, "if I have to travel up and down three times a day to do it." "And will you be an angel?" she said. "I am. My wings are fully grown." "Then I want you to fly for me to Jobson's." "To Jobson's?" I said in a voice of vague alarm. "Yes, Jobson's. The great Stores in the Bothwell Road." "But I shall get lost," I said. "I haven't got a head for Stores. Perhaps if I sew my address into the back of my waistcoat I might venture, but it's an awful undertaking. And how does one dress for Stores?" "Oh, anyhow," she said. "And when you get there I want you to order some stockings for the girls--about four pairs each--and three warm undervests for John." "But what about the size?" I said. "You won't have any difficulty. Mention their ages, or take up a few old sample stockings and an undervest with you. They won't be heavy to carry. Now leave me to my headache."