Nokomis dropped to the floor again, and with the dignity of a duchess walked over to where I lay, raised her beautiful eyes to mine, lifted a forepaw and laid it on the bed. I shook it and felt for the dog's neck.
"Now, Nokomis—" Miss Fielding began.
She was down on the instant, went to her mistress and stood waiting, her head on one side, her ears half erect, her tail low.
"Go and bring up Chevalier, please," was the command. Nokomis was off like an arrow, and presently there was a to-do in the yard. By this time I could recognize Nokomis' heavy note among the others. Then she and a tan-and-black collie came rollicking into the room. Both came immediately up to their mistress.
"Here's Chevalier, Mr. Castle. He's a pretty good show dog, isn't he? He hasn't got a fancy livery, but he's all right, except his tail's set on a bit too high, and there's a little feather to his hind legs below the hock."
Chevalier whined, and looked up at Miss Fielding. I was quite ready to believe the dog understood what she said.
"Oh, that's all right, Chev, you's a booful, good doggie, and I love you! Chevalier's strain harks back to the original Scott—he's quite a swell, in his way, and has got blue ribbons. But they all want tri-colored calico dogs, now. Go over and pay your respects, Chevalier, please!"
The dog came up to me, was patted, and left with Nokomis, who was next instructed to return with John O'Groat, a big dog, almost wholly black, with a rather blunter muzzle than the others.
"John's got pretty good blood, too, and his mother was from the Lothian Hills, like Norval—no, that was the Grampians. A little hollow-backed, and his forelegs aren't quite straight, but Jack's a good dog, aren't you, Jack? A fine worker, too."
Jack was certainly listening to every word attentively, whether he understood or not. After he had gone, Nokomis brought up Minnehaha, one of her own youngsters, pure white.