'Mummie, don't you think that Marjorie and I could go too?' she asked.
'No, I am quite sure that it wouldn't do,' replied Mrs. Stewart; and the girls looked disappointed.
'You had better go upstairs and begin to get ready,' said Mrs. Stewart. 'Marjorie can brush her hair'—looking dubiously at the tangled mass of curls, in which bits of grass and heather had become intermixed, 'and perhaps by that time her other frock and her hat will have arrived.'
The girls turned to go upstairs, but paused to look at Carlo, who came running down the steps, wriggling his small body, and whining as though he were in pain.
'What's the matter with the poor little dog?' they cried.
Every one turned round as Carlo landed on the rug, and stood yelping distressfully.
'Whatever is the little brute going on about?' said Reggie, looking at him with curiosity.
'Something is hurting him,' said Hamish.
'I never saw him go on like that before,' remarked Allan.
Laddie sprang forward, wagging his tail and running to every one in turn, trying to explain that his little friend needed help.