'Down, Laddie, down,' said Mr. Stewart sternly; and Laddie, after looking up pathetically for a minute or two, contented himself with following Allan as closely as he could.
'How do you do, Marjorie?' said Allan. 'Hulloa, Hamish; glad to see you! Hulloa, Reggie!—Tricksy, why don't you keep your dog in better order?'
Tricksy looked hurt.
'He's a very well-trained dog,' she declared. 'He only barks because he is glad to see you.'
'Tricksy thinks she owns a dog,' said her father, smiling down at the little girl, 'but in reality the dog owns her.'
'Daddy, you are always teasing me,' said Laddie's eight-year-old mistress; 'he's a most obedient dog.—Laddie, come here.'
Laddie glanced at her and then looked up adoringly at Allan without stirring from his side.
'That is so like a dog,' observed Marjorie; 'they always make more fuss about a boy, even if he hardly notices them, than over a girl who is always petting them. It's too bad.'
Tricksy looked mortified.
'It's because he's so glad that Allan has come home,' she said. 'Just wait, Daddy; he'll obey me sometime.'