waste of land near the steam cars, and besides her hens, Mrs. Bob owned a goat.
Our story has, however, nothing to do with the goat except to say he was there, and that he was on nibbling terms, not only with Jericho Bob, but with Bob's bosom friend, Julius Caesar Fish, and it was surprising how many old hat-brims and other tidbits of clothing he could swallow during a day.
As Mrs. Bob truly said, it was no earthly use to get something new for Jericho, even if she could afford it; for the goat browsed all over him, and had been known to carry away even a leg of his trousers.
Jericho Bob was eight years old, and the friend of his bosom, Julius Caesar Fish, was nine. They both, were of a lovely black; a tallow-dip couldn't take the kink out of their hair, and the hardest whipping did not disturb the even cheerfulness of their spirits. They were so much alike that if it hadn't been for Jericho's bow-legs and his turn-up nose, you really could not have told them apart.
A kindred taste for turkey also united them.
In honor of Thanksgiving Day, Mrs. Bob
