Just outside the village there stood a little cottage in a garden quite by itself. It was very clean and neat. An old woman was sitting by the door doing some needlework. I thought she looked both kind and sad; so I went up to her, and put my head on her shoulder.
The good woman gave a shriek, and jumped up quickly.
I did not move, but lifted my face towards hers with a gentle and pleading look.
“Poor thing!” she said at last; “you don’t look like a bad creature. If you don’t belong to any one, you shall take the place of my poor Greycoat, who died the other day of old age, and I shall still be able to earn my living by taking my vegetables to market to sell. But,” she added, with a sigh, “you’ve got a master somewhere, I’ll be bound.”
“Granny, whom are you talking to?” said a pleasant voice from the house, and a nice little boy came out of the door. He was six or seven years old, poorly but very neatly dressed. He looked at me, half admiring, half afraid.
“I galloped along.” P. [12.]
“Granny, may I stroke him?” he said.
“Of course you may, George, my dear; but take care he doesn’t bite you.”