Honor had been wrestling with her recipe books and her biscuits for more than an hour, Katherine had given her music lesson and returned, and Victoria, aided by Sophy,—who was perhaps more of a hindrance than a help, but whom it pleased to be called into service,—had performed various household duties, and still Peter did not come back.
It was no unusual matter for him to be off in the woods and meadows for hours at a time, and therefore his sisters were not in the least alarmed by his absence, especially as Victoria suspected that he had acted upon her suggestion and had gone to consult the Fordham florist.
When the clock struck six, however, and he had not yet come, they began to wonder as to his whereabouts, and Sophy went to one of the second-story windows and took up her station there. The sun had set, but a young moon was shining brightly, and she could see plainly the beautiful lawn, dotted with the fine old trees now quite bare of leaves, across which Peter might be expected to come if he had gone to Fordham by the electric car, as Victoria supposed.
Sophy watched for some time in silence, but at last her scrutiny was rewarded.
“Here he comes,” she cried, “and he is carrying something, and there’s somebody with him! Who do you s’pose it is? It is a boy, and he looks raggedy, and it’s a dog! I really think it’s a truly dog! Vic, where are you?”
Sophy, in great excitement, ran from her post of observation and hurried down the stairs. The front door was thrown open, and Peter entered, tenderly carrying a good-sized yellow dog, whose leg was bound up and whose head lay limply upon his arm, and accompanied by a boy who, as Sophy had said, was “raggedy.”
The four sisters gathered from different parts of the house and surveyed the newcomers, surprise mingled with disapprobation being unmistakably depicted on the countenances of all, with the exception, perhaps, of Sophy’s.
“I want some witch hazel,” said Peter, “and some kind of an ointment or something. Vic, get it for me, will you? This dog’s leg is broken, and he has a lot of wounds. This is Dave Carney. He’s going to stay to tea.”
“Peter!” said four voices.