She went off round the house, leading a cross and disappointed Thomas.
“Is that Miss Crump?” whispered Larry.
Fatty nodded. “I expect so. I say - look at poor old Buster. He’s been bitten on this leg. He’s bleeding.”
Bets sobbed with shock and misery. She couldn’t bear to see Buster bleeding. Buster was the only one who didn’t seem to mind about his bite. He licked his leg, then wagged his tail hard as if to say, “Jolly good fight, that. Pity it ended so soon.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Buster,” said Daisy. “That horrid big dog flew at you.”
Miss Crump came back, looking very sorry about the whole affair. Bets was still crying. She put her arm round the little girl and hugged her.
“Stop crying, dear,” she said. “That bad dog Thomas hasn’t hurt your little dog very much. Thomas is such a fighter. He’s my brother’s dog, and if any other dog or cat so much as sets a foot in this garden, he flies into a temper and pounces on them.”
“Poor B-b-b-buster’s b-b-b-bleeding,” wailed Bets, who never liked the sight of blood.
“Well, we’ll take him indoors and bathe his leg and put a bandage on. How would you like that?” said Miss Crump.
“Yes. I’d like that,” said Bets, drying her eyes. She thought Buster would look lovely with a bandaged leg. She would love him a lot.