“But why should he interfere with master?” said cook, who felt annoyed at her solution being so ruthlessly set aside.
“Because he was a good dog,” said John, taking a sip from his glass, and moving his chair a little, as he thought, with a sigh, about the big piece of lawn he had to sweep in the hot sun.
“A good dog to fly at his master!” exclaimed cook, rolling her arms in her apron.
“He’s only a new master that he don’t know well, and don’t much like,” said John sententiously; “and he sees him coming out of the window in the middle of the night.”
“Oh!” ejaculated the housemaid again.
“‘Burglars!’ says Bruno. If you remember, his bark always sounds like saying burglars.”
“Yes; I’ve always noticed that,” said the housemaid, emphasising the last word.
“Fiddle!” said cook contemptuously.
“Ah, you may say fiddle,” said John, taking out his red handkerchief, and slowly spreading it upon his knees, “but that’s it. Sees him coming down from the stairkiss window, and goes at him; master gives him one on the head, and Bruno feels sick, and goes and lies down among the laurels.”
“And who says master went out of the stairkiss window,” said cook with a snort, “when there’s a front door to the house as well as a back?”