As she opened the door and stepped out into the May sunshine, Fred stood leaning in the doorway, waiting to know if his plan were successful. Fuzz sat on the grass ten feet away, watching their manœuvres with a look of calm, unbiassed criticism.
"Come, Fuzz, come get some bread," said Bess caressingly, as she broke off a bit and tossed it to the dog. He moved lazily towards it, ate it as if he were conferring a favor upon her, then came a step or two nearer to get the next one, and the next, artfully aimed by Bess, in order to bring him by degrees to her feet. But Fuzz was wary, and had no mind to forego either the present feast or the prospective walk. By watching his chance, he would contrive to run up to Bessie's very toes, snatch the morsel, and then dodge away again, before she could touch so much as one of his curls. In this way, he possessed himself of the entire slice of bread, and then returned to his former seat, leaving Bess none the better for her efforts.
"Won't he come?" asked Fred sympathetically, though with a strong desire to laugh.
"He hasn't the remotest idea of such a thing," replied Bess disconsolately, as she looked at her watch.
Mrs. Carter joined them on the steps.
"Fuzz, come here! Come to grandma!" she called authoritatively.
But Fuzz withdrew to the middle of the street, and contemplated a distant carriage.
"I'll tell you, Bess, what you can do. We will all go in, and then, in a few minutes, you can go out the back way, and through to the other street."
"A brilliant idea, mother. Come, Fred." And she led the way into the house, and shut the door with an emphasis to attract the dog's attention.
They waited until he returned to the step, and then, with a stealthy tread, Bess retired through the kitchen and was out of the house grounds when a small gray body rushed madly past her, and then returned to caper about her, leaving an occasional dusty foot-mark on her new gown.