“I don’t think it would have made any difference, ma’am. We would rather sleep on the ground than in a bed that mightn’t be clean—wouldn’t we, Abby?” The dog gave a short little bark, as he always did when his master addressed him by his name.—“But I’m so glad!” Clare went on. “I was sure Mr. Goodenough thought the sovereign all right when he gave it me!—Were you ever disappointed in a sovereign, ma’am?”
“I been oftener disappointed in them as owed ’em!” she answered. “But to think o’ me snug in bed, an’ you sleepin’ out i’ the dark night! I can’t abide the thought on it!”
“Don’t let it trouble you, ma’am; we’re used to it. Ain’t we, Abby?”
“Then you oughtn’t to be! and, please God, you shall be no more! But come along and have your breakfast. We don’t start till the last.”
“Please, ma’am, may Abdiel come too?”
“In course! ‘Love me, love my dog!’ Ain’t that right?”
“Yes, ma’am; but some people like dogs worse than boys.”
“A good deal depends on the dog. When folk brings up their dogs as bad as they do their childern, I want neither about me. But your dog’s a well-behaved dog. Still, he must learn not to come in sight o’ the animals.”
“He will learn, ma’am!—Abdiel, lie down, and don’t come till I call you.”
At the word, the dog dropped, and lay.