At length avarice conquers prudence; there is a snap, two snarls, and a violent tussle, during which both puppies roll over and over each other on the damp path, and finally, the mother interfering, seizes the bone of contention as her own, and in canine language, desires the two culprits to follow her with hang-dog looks and lowered tails, to their kennel.
"Ha, ha, ha!" says Roger, forgetful of everything but the pretty pups and their tiny war.
"Ha, ha, ha!" says Dulce, equally unmindful of the stormy past. "How sweet they looked, naughty things. And how they did bark and bite. Dr. Watts should have been here to see them."
"I wonder will they get that bone back?" says Roger, turning to her, all animosity forgotten in the pleasurable excitement of the moment.
"Let us come and see," exclaims she, with considerable animation, and in the friendliest tone imaginable. She glances up at him from under her long lashes with one of her brightest and sunniest smiles, and moves a step nearer to him.
"We must run if we want to be in time for the finish," says Roger—"come."
He takes her hand, and together they move towards the door. They are, apparently, as happy and as good friends as if no harsh words had ever passed between them.
"Going out now," says Julia, as they pass the low wicker chair in which she is lounging, "so late?"
"Don't be long, Dulce," says Portia, in her plaintive way. "I miss you when you are out of my sight."
"I shan't be any time," says Dulce.