The day before Uncle John's visit ended he was sitting in the bay window, partly concealed by a curtain. It was twilight, and the three children came into the room together. On the centre-table there were some wax flowers covered with a glass case. Their mother prized them very highly, and had repeatedly told the children to be careful and not touch or knock the table.
"Oh, I wish I could bring Carlo in here," said John, "just to show you how the boys have taught him to stand on his two hind legs and beg. There he is in the hall now."
"Don't call him in," Emma said. "You know mother don't like it."
"No, I sha'n't call him, though I know he would not hurt anything."
John did not call him, but he gave a low whistle. Carlo understood it perfectly, and came bounding into the room. "Out, out, sir!" and John tried to order him back, but Carlo thought this was mere play, and jumped and frisked about until he came near the table, when away went the flowers and case with a crash. The children looked at each other in dismay.
"Oh, John, what will mother say?" said Emma, reproachfully.
"It is not my fault, Emma."
"Yes, but you whistled for Carlo."
"I did not know he would come in, though." And John tried to drive Carlo out in earnest, and succeeded after a good deal of shouting and scampering, and the children left the room unconscious that Uncle John had witnessed the accident.