Boxer did not like the vigorous shake that his little master gave him. He roused himself, it is true; but when Willie climbed on to the seat and looked out of the window, he curled himself round for another nap. Why did not his little master do the same?
"Boxer, I'm 'samed of you! How lazy you are! Come and play wid me."
And the fat arms dragged the dog up again and held him in a tight embrace, from which there seemed no escaping.
"Mother is fast as'eep! We'll play widout her, dis time," and Willie fixed his eyes longingly upon the window-strap. Then he looked back again at his mother's white tired face.
He was thinking to himself, "Mother said, Willie mustn't play wid dat fing—and—and me wants to."
Poor mother! why do you not wake? See! your little child is getting nearer and nearer to that forbidden plaything.
He leant against the door and held the window-strap in one hand, while his little face grew grave and ashamed. It was not quite so nice to be disobedient as Willie thought it would be.
Mother, mother! why do you not wake? There is something wrong with the fastening of the door, and even the child's light weight has made it shift a little.
He was peeping down with eager eyes into the depths out of which the window-sash had been drawn.
"I'll send dis strap down dere, and fis' somefing up. S'all I, Boxer?"