“Why, what’s he done now?” asked Jack.
“He went and dug up all my nasturtiums. He’s always digging somewhere. He’s a perfect pest!”
“I’ll look after him,” said her brother, going out to the garden.
He punished Rover, and, leaving Priscilla replanting the remnants of her flowers, returned to Desiré.
“I wouldn’t say it before the children,” said Desiré, when Jack reported the condition of Priscilla’s garden, “but Rover has a most unfortunate passion for digging; and, as if he knew that Priscilla disapproved of him, he usually selects some part of her garden. I’ve whipped him two or three times, but back he goes the next time the fancy strikes him.”
Jack laughed. “I can imagine the kind of beatings you give him. But,” he added anxiously, “had you rather get rid of him?”
“Oh, no; he’s such a lovable animal that you can’t help being attached to him in spite of his faults; and then, too, René thinks the world of him. It wouldn’t be fair to take away his pet.”
The following morning, just as the big bus reached the lane, one of the tires exploded with a loud report; and Jack had to help the driver make repairs. The other Wistmores stood in the shade of the trees, watching; even Desiré could not resist the opportunity to see what had to be done. There were a few passengers already on board, and two or three of them got out to stroll up and down the road.
“What a darling house!” exclaimed one young lady, peering down the lane. “Come here, Dad; see!”
The grey-haired man looked in the direction of her pointing finger, then at the little group under the trees.