"Njal, jump down off that bed this minute. The impudence of him!"
"Njal, drop that ball. It doesn't belong to you. Be off to the barn."
The maids, aided by Njal's brothers and sisters, who struck me as officious, had just succeeded in chasing him out as we came to the door, but he flashed past us, tail erect, enthusiastically bent on greeting his glorious sire, who was majestically pacing up to investigate this unseemly commotion.
"Poor Njal! Even more than the rest, he idolizes his father," said the Lady of Cedar Hill, as Ralph met his son with a growl and a cuff.
Crestfallen at last, Njal trotted back to his mistress and stood gazing up at her with great, amber eyes, that held, if ever eyes did, wounded love and a beseeching for comfort. She stroked his head, but bade one of the maids fetch a leash and take him back where he belonged.
I glanced at Joy-of-Life. That glance was all she had been waiting for.
"Njal is my dog," she said.
"What! Not Njal!" protested the Lady of Cedar Hill. "Why, in the count of collie points——"
"But I'm not looking for a dog to keep me supplied with blue ribbons. I want a friend. Njal has a soul."
The Lady of Cedar Hill bent a doubtful glance on me.