'I want you for just one minute first,' said Daisy politely, and carried him into the morning-room. Was he going to be whipped?—she couldn't have the heart—an invalid like him! He tried to protest by his whimpering.
But Daisy did nothing of the kind; she merely took something that was flat and broad and white, and fastened it round his neck with a very ornamental bow and ribbon. Then she opened the French windows, and said in rather a chilly voice, 'Now run away and get on your nasty steamer and beg, and see what you get by it!'
That seemed, as far as he could tell, very sensible advice, and, oddly enough, it was exactly what he had been intending to do. It did not strike him as particularly strange that Daisy should know, because Don was a dog that didn't go very deeply into matters unless he was obliged.
He trotted off at an easy pace down to the village, getting hungrier every minute, and hoping that the people on the steamer would have brought nice things to-day, when, close to the turning that led to the landing-stage, he met Jock, and was naturally obliged to stop for a few moments' conversation.
He was not at all pleased to see him notwithstanding, for I am sorry to say that Don's greediness had so grown upon him of late that he was actually afraid that his humble friend (who was a little slow to find out when he wasn't wanted) would accompany him on to the steamboat, and then of course the good things would have to be divided.
However, Don was a dog that was always scrupulously polite, even to his fellow-dogs, and he did not like to be rude now.
'Hullo!' said Jock (in dogs' language of course, but I have reason to believe that what follows is as nearly as possible what was actually said). 'What's the matter with you this morning?'
Don replied that he was rather out of sorts, and was going down to a certain lane for a dose of dog-grass.
'A little dog-grass won't do me any harm,' said Jock; 'I'll come too.'