“Pardon me,” said Gilead, “if I enquire if your little girl is not very attached to the animal?”
“There is no denying,” said Mr Brown, “that Judy is devoted to Pilot, and Pilot to Judy. It was on that account that I was moved to sanction the compromise of a new home, in which compromise, I have not the least doubt, Mrs Flight’s superior reason will acquiesce, particularly when she is informed of the character of the applicant.”
Gilead bowed. “May I see the dog?” he asked.
Mr Brown shrugged his shoulders and threw up his hands in a manner of patient repudiation.
“With pleasure,” he said, and evidently without the least. “We will go at once.”
He led the visitor out by a back door, across a fair but neglected lawn, through a space of untended kitchen garden, and so down to the river bank, where, by some water steps and a little boat-house, stood a dog-kennel of considerable dimensions. And straight, on the sound of their approach, there issued from this last, with a rattle of iron links, a magnificent Newfoundland.
Gilead exclaimed.
“But he is superb! I am quite astonished! His value, Mr Brown!”
The master was engaged in releasing swivel from collar. The beautiful dog, fawning and delighted, made up to him endearingly.
“Judy, I am sure,” said Judy’s father in a suppressed voice, “would never dream of making a transaction of her pet. Yes, there’s your little mistress, boy.”