"What's Mr. Faulkner like?" asked Leicester; "will he say, 'well, my little man,' to me?"
"No," said Dorothy, laughing at the remembrance; "Mr. Faulkner is an awful nice man. Not very young, and not very old."
"Like Jack Sprat's pig?" asked Leicester; "not very little and not very big."
"He isn't like anybody's pig!" said Fairy, indignantly. "He's a gentiliferous gentleman. I'm going to ask him to go to Mrs. Hickox's with me. He's scientiferic, and I know he'd like to read her newspaper clippings."
"I wouldn't ask him to go just at first, Fairy," said grandma; "wait until you get better acquainted."
"Well, anyhow? I'll take him to see the rabbits; he's sure to love them, they're such cunning, pudgy-wudgy little things."
"And I'm sure he will like Dare," said Lilian, patting the head of the big dog who lay at her feet.
"Such nice people as they seem to be, will surely like animals," said grandma; "but if they should not, then you must be very careful that they are not annoyed by them. Dare will learn for himself whether he is liked or not; but if Mrs. Faulkner doesn't care for kittens you must keep Mike out from under foot."
"I don't believe she'll care for kittens, so I'll take this one and drown it now," said Leicester, picking up the ball of fluffy Maltese fur, and starting towards the lake.
Fairy ran after him, screaming in pretended anguish, though she well knew her brother was only joking, being almost as fond of the kitten as she was herself.