"Hurrah! How did you come? On the top of a 'bus?"
"In a stuffy cab. It's waiting now."
"A 'bus is much jollier! Come and see dad. Tina, he's working at your picture: the one with the hounds. It's nearly finished, and we have such a lovely hound lent to us. He goes any way you want him to; I want to make him stand on his head, but dad won't let me."
"They must only stay five minutes," said Blanche, but they never heard her, they were all racing upstairs to Mr. O'Flagherty's studio.
It was a much larger room than that in his country cottage. Christina looked round it with interest. There were rich coloured stuffs draped over screens, beautiful pictures, bits of armour, china bowls, and all sorts of queer pieces of furniture. The artist was working away, palette in hand. Dawn's corner was soon discovered. A plate of oranges on a stool, some shavings of wood and a knife, and various boy's playthings scattered round showed where he had been working.
"Oh, dad, isn't this luck?" Dawn exclaimed. "Say good-bye for the day, for you won't see me before bedtime; and won't you be jolly glad to get rid of me!"
Mr. O'Flagherty turned round and nodded to Puggy and Christina.
"You've brought a whiff of the country with you," he said. "Well, Tina, have you been defying any more savage sportsmen?"
"She's been defying a drunk pedlar," said Puggy.
"What? Oh, this is delicious! Tell me all about it. Dawn, hand the oranges round. Don't you forget your hospitality."