Toddlekyns, put upon his feet at this moment, looked for all the world like an animated, decorated monkey muff. His silky tail was tied with a blue ribbon and a long forelock combed down over his eyes was adorned in like manner; his face and legs were lost in a mass of curling silky hair; and really it was difficult for one confronting Toddlekyns to tell whether he was in danger of a head end or rear end collision.
"Now a real dog," continued Mrs. Pennybacker, reflectively, "is different. There is no more beautiful sight than a child hanging about a Scotch Collie or a big Newfoundland. A child might hug a dog and I would think it was all right.... I don't wonder that a shepherd is fond of an animal that can round up sheep with the intelligence of a man. A mastiff in a back yard—one that has to be chained up to keep him from chewing up any intruder—has something almost human about him. He knows that his home is his castle. There is character about such a dog as that.... And the St. Bernards! Why, Maria, I hope I am not irreverent—when I think of those noble creatures plowing through snow and storm to rescue some poor perishing mortal, it seems to me almost a type of the Divine love that came to seek and to save the lost. It does, indeed. But it's a far cry from the monks and dogs of St. Bernard to the idle women and the poodles of the cities."
"The very best people," said Mrs. Van Dorn firmly, "make much of dogs. It is the thing to do. Why, Aunt Mary, the bench shows of New York are simply immense."
"I know it. I've read about them. There certainly is something strange about how people that have this dog craze let it run away with them. Mrs. Joel Bennett used to tell a story on a Kansas City minister who was very fond of dogs. She was living with her son George who had a lot of them and was a good hand to train them. She was very sick at one time and this minister, who was her pastor, used to come out often to see her—giving spiritual comfort to her and dog talk to George, I suppose. Well, one day he had but a short time to stay, having to catch a train, and he asked her if there was any special subject she would like to have him converse upon. Mrs. Bennett was a very old-fashioned Christian, so she said yes, she would like to have him talk to her about the plan of salvation. 'Mrs. Bennett,' he said, 'there is nothing I feel so sure of, and nothing that it delights me more to talk about than the plan of salvation.' Just then George came in with one of the dogs. Naturally they fell to talking about it. 'And,' Mrs. Bennett used to say with a twinkle of her eye, 'that was the last I heard of the plan of salvation!'"
She smiled to herself reminiscently, as she always did in recalling her friend.
"How is Margaret?" asked Mrs. Van Dorn, after a pause. The dog story did not seem to require comment. It was rather pointless, but she politely ignored that. "I suppose she is still lonely without Philip. Or does she get over it?"
"I can't say that she has got entirely over it."
"Aunt Mary, I don't know that you will agree with me," Mrs. Van Dorn said with some firmness, "but I think if Margaret would get her mind on something besides herself—society or something of that kind—she would be a great deal better off. Or philanthropy would be a good thing for her." Mrs. Van Dorn had never yet been told about Rosalie and her child. "Some of those things are in excellent form. I was just reading as you came in about one that seems to me so beautiful. So—so inspiring."
"What is it?" Mrs. Pennybacker was glad to know of any phase of philanthropy that interested her niece.
"It is a form of rescue work. The article is headed