After that nobody could think of anything but the doggie, so eagerly expected. What would he be like? What color would he be? She imagined him now black, now white, now black and white, now sandy. She asked all sorts of questions of everybody she met. She dreamed of him, she thought of him all day long, of nothing but him.
Her father told her not to get too excited, as he was afraid she might be disappointed. Bertha listened at last to his good advice, but even then she could not resist stopping to look in at the windows of the leather goods stores, where muzzles, collars, chains, leashes, whips, boots for the mud, coats and blankets—in short, all the things a dog could need—were displayed.
Dreamily she gazed at the poodles and pet-dogs which passed her, led by fine ladies.
But, what was this? Marie with a letter for the little girl? Bertha recognized the handwriting. Miss Lewis had written to tell her the great news—the puppies had arrived. Five of them. Five little puppies, each with different markings, and Miss Lewis graciously invited her pupil to come and choose.
Bertha was breathless, wild with joy.
"Mother, Mother, let's go quick! My doggie is waiting."
Dressing hastily, mother and daughter went straight to Miss Lewis's house, where they found her beside a beautiful black poodle, who, jealously ready to protect her babies, looked at her visitors as though she didn't quite trust them.