“Yes, miss,” said Ram, beginning to whistle, as he strode along with his basket, but he turned back directly and followed the girl.
“I say, Miss Celia,” he cried.
“Yes, Ram.”
“You like Grip, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then I won’t never kick him, miss. Only I arn’t fond on him. Here, mate,” he continued, dropping on one knee, “give us your paw.”
The dog, a sturdy-looking deerhound, growled, and closed up to his mistress.
“D’ye hear? Give’s your paw. What yer growling about?”
The dog didn’t say, but growled more fiercely.
“Grip, down! Give him your paw,” cried the girl.