And now, after all this preamble, I come to the real reason of my letter, the statement with which I began. I want you to accept a gift in token of my gratitude for all your kindness to me in Ballysheen. I want you to take care of Dandy as your own.
Since those few weeks in Ireland, I have fancied that he has missed the country most terribly, the walks upon those glorious cliffs he had with you, the rambles with both of us when the whole breadth of the earth was his, full of romance, full of adventure, full of rabbits—those hundreds of rabbits you saw that morning, when I saw but two. But most of all, I imagine that he misses that playground of his—your garden—for I remember the very first morning before breakfast, after you had taken him out for a walk, he came to me and, in his own manner, told me what he thought of it all. He raced a dozen times round one of your beds at an angle of forty-five. If you don't know what I mean by an angle of forty-five, ask Cruikshank. He will explain it to you by means of trigonometry which I know will please you.
That, at any rate, was the expression of all he felt about the country on his first morning in Ballysheen. Remember, it was round the beds he raced—not over them. His interest in flowers is too great for him ever to destroy them. I know this by the way he watched me when I planted the snowdrops and crocuses in my window-boxes. I say this to reassure you.
So far as his habits are concerned, I don't think I can tell you anything but what you do not know already. We give him two meals of dog's biscuits every day. He does not like them broken up on a plate, preferring rather to have them thrown to him whole. But Moxon, who I am sending with him for safe conduct, will explain all this.
Write as soon as you can and let me know that he has arrived safely. Tell me, moreover, if you will, that you are not inconvenienced by this unexpected arrival in your family.
God bless you. I add this, not only because I like the phrase, but because I believe in its efficaciousness for those who merit it. Lastly, give my love to Cruikshank and tell him that when he sets to the making of his new garden in the hollow, he must fill it with sweet peas. I wanted to grow them in my window-boxes, but was told it was out of the question.
Good-bye—Yours A.H. Bellairs.
As soon as I had sealed the letter and addressed it, I sent for Moxon.
"I've got a commission and a journey for you, Moxon," said I, when he came in. He bent his head, saying nothing until he had heard what it was.
"I want you to take Dandy," I continued, "and leave him in the care of Mrs. Townshend in Ballysheen. Can you get what few things you'll need ready in time to catch the night train to Fishguard this evening?"