But Mrs. Flemming was far too motherly a little woman to think of leaving Leon for a lonely Thanksgiving with Mrs. Pinney, the housekeeper. Early the next morning, she knocked at Leon’s door, with a daintily-packed basket in one hand and the latest boys’ book in the other.
“I just looked in for a minute,” she said; “to ask if it wouldn’t be a good idea to have you carried down to our house, Wednesday morning, to stay till the boys come back, on Monday. Lieutenant Wilde will be with us, and we should all like this chance to get better acquainted with you. Gyp is lamenting that we can’t have Harry, too; but I suppose his plans are already made.”
Accordingly on Wednesday morning Leon was waited upon by a “lady’s chair,” formed of Jack and Alex, who marched down the hill to the doctor’s house and deposited their burden in a reclining-chair which was cosily drawn up in front of the parlor fire, close to a little table covered with the latest illustrated papers and a number of books of travel and adventure, such as boys love. From this luxurious retreat, Leon could watch his departing friends with calm indifference; for was he not to spend five whole days in the house with the doctor and Lieutenant Wilde, with Mrs. Flemming to coddle him, and Gyp to amuse him to the best of her small ability?
CHAPTER VII.
HOW LEON SPENT HIS THANKSGIVING.
The next morning Leon lay on the sofa reading, for at least the tenth time, the adventures of the immortal Tom Brown, with as deep an interest in them as he had felt when first he made the acquaintance of that hero so dear to boyish hearts. The doctor and his nephew had gone to walk up an appetite which should do honor to the dinner of state that Mrs. Flemming was superintending in the kitchen, and Gyp sat on the floor in the corner, robing the patient Mouse in the clothes of her second-best doll.
“There! Doesn’t she look pretty, Leon?” she inquired at length, triumphantly holding the cat up to his view.
The usual melancholy expression of the poor old cat was now set off by a rosy silk bonnet cocked rakishly over one eye, while her long, lank body was adorned with a green skirt, a pale blue sash and a white waist. Mouse, however, was evidently accustomed to such finery for, except for an increased droop to the corners of her mouth, there was nothing to show her disapproval of this treatment. Leon laughed, as he dropped his book by his side and, clasping his hands back of his head, he turned to watch Gyp who was holding Mouse out at arms’ length, tipping her head from side to side, as she critically eyed her pet.
“There’s one good thing about Mouse, Gyp,” he remarked lazily; “she’s a real good frame to build a cat on, if you ever want to do it.”
“I don’t know zac’ly what you mean,” said Gyp, with great severity; “but I ’most know you’re making fun of Mouse.”