“And,” the Mistress read on, “we will come out to the Place, on the noon train; and take darling Cyril away with us. I wish we could stay longer with you; but Henry must be in Chicago on Saturday night. So we must catch a late afternoon train back to town, and take the night train West. Now, I—”
“Most letters are a bore,” interpolated the Master. “Or else they’re a bother. But this one is a pure rapture. Read it more slowly, won’t you, dear? I want to wallow in every blessèd word of hope it contains. Go ahead. I’m sorry I interrupted. Read on. You’ll never have such another enthusiastic audience.”
“And now,” the Mistress continued her reading, “I am going to ask both of you not to say a single word to precious Cyril about our coming home so soon. We want to surprise him. Oh, to think what his lovely face will be like, when he sees us walking in!”
“And to think what my lovely face will be like, when I see him walking out!” exulted the Master. “Laddie, come over here. We’ve got the gorgeousest news ever! Come over and be glad!”
Lad, at the summons, came trotting out of his cave, and across the room. Like every good dog who has been much talked to, he was as adept as any dead-beat in reading the varying shades of the human voice. The voices and faces alike of his two adored deities told him something wonderful had happened. And, as ever, he rejoiced in their gladness. Lifting his magnificent head, he broke into a salvo of trumpeting barks;—the oddly triumphant form of racket he reserved for great moments.
“What’s Laddie doing?” asked Cyril, from the threshold. “He sounds as if he was going mad or something.”
“He’s happy,” answered the Mistress.
“Why’s he happy?” queried the child.
“Because his Master and I are happy,” patiently returned the Mistress.
“Why are you happy?” insisted Cyril.