For I want to go a-walking.”
“That will do, Lavinia, I’m in no mood for foolishness; I want to say that that wretched dog of yours cannot stay here any longer.”
“Is that so, aunty?” said Ladybird, with her most exasperating air of polite interest. “Well, now I wonder where we can stay? Would they take us to board down at the hotel? I don’t know. Or perhaps Mrs. Jacobs would take us, if I helped her with the housework and sewing.”
“That is enough nonsense, Lavinia. I tell you that dog is to be put away.”
“I understand that, Aunt Priscilla; I’m not stupid, you know; I’m only wondering where we can go, for whithersoever Cloppy goest, I’m going, and there will I be buried.”
“Very well, you may go if you choose; but that dog shall not remain in this house another day.”
“You don’t like him, do you aunty?” said Ladybird, leaning her chin on her hand and gazing thoughtfully at her aunt. “Now I wonder why.”
“He’s always under foot,” said Miss Priscilla, “and he’s such a moppy, untidy-looking affair!”
“He’s a smart dog,” said Ladybird, meditatively.
“That’s just it,” said Miss Flint, “he’s too smart: he looks at you just like a human. Why, when I scold him for anything, he sits up and stares at me, and those brown eyes of his blink through that ridiculous fringe of hair, and he never says a word, but sits there, and looks and looks at me until I feel as if I should just perfectly fly.”