“But mind this, I will not have any mess made indoors.”
As she spoke my aunt stooped down and took Nap in her arms, soiling her handsome silk dress a good deal with the dog’s dirty feet. Then she walked away saying endearing things to Nap, who only whined and struggled to get away in the most ungrateful fashion; while my uncle took off his glasses, drew a long breath, and said as he wiped his face with his red silk handkerchief:
“I was afraid she was going to be very cross, my boy. She’s such a good woman, your dear aunt, my boy, and I’m very proud of her; but she does upset me so when she is cross.”
“I was all of a fidge, uncle,” I said laughing.
“So was I, Nat, so was I. But don’t laugh, my boy. It is too serious a thing for smiles. It always puts me in such a dreadful perspiration, Nat, for I don’t like to be angry too. Never be angry with a woman when you grow up, Nat, my boy; women, you see, belong to the weaker sex.”
“Yes, uncle,” I said wonderingly; and then he began to beam and smile again, and rubbed his hands together softly as he looked at our work.
“But you will have to put Polly together again, Nat,” he said at last.
“Put her together again, uncle!” I said in dismay. “Why, it’s like Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall—all the king’s horses and all the king’s men—”
“Couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again,” said my uncle quite seriously. “But we must put Polly together again, Natty. There’s your aunt, you know.”
“Yes, uncle, there’s Aunt Sophia,” I said ruefully; “but the feathers are all out of the skin, and the skin’s all in pieces. I’m afraid she will never look decent, try how I may.”