“Of course he has.” Donnie’s father turned his head from where, at a little distance off, he was showing Dorothy how to post, rise gracefully in her saddle, hold her whip well back. “Of course he has a a pup for you, Miss Una. Which do you want, a male or female?”
“’Tisn’t—’tisn’t either of those,” protested Donnie indignantly. “It’s an Airedale!”
There was a laugh. Una drew Revel off towards the fence. The farmer moved away, starting Dorothy off on a preliminary canter round the pasture.
The eight who were to ride this morning had, by this time, captured their mounts.
It was then that Cartoon, stealing up, sniffed his opportunity. His sharp nose, rooting in the air, said: “Sugar” and told him that the sweets were in the breastpocket of a little child.
It was then that Pemrose, watching afar, felt her “rooting” breath suddenly become a snort, an excited “Weugh!” like his.
Leaving Revelation with the white saddle-girths dangling, she started to run across the pasture, crying out as she did so.
But Cartoon was quick—greedy and quick. Taking short, mincing steps in his excitement, his breath coming in very short puffs, he stole up behind the child, lowered his high head and began feeling him over—rooting softly with his nose near the tiny pocket.
Donnie started and saw, not Revel’s fair “nuzzling” face near to his, but the dark, ugly, Roman-nosed one.
The child gave a scream and plunged away—tripped in his terror and fell.