“Meanin’ by that you three ladies and them dogs?”
“Yes, that is what I mean.”
The farmer bent and whispered something to his wife, the result of which was that a minute later Betty and her sisters were alone with the animals. They did not know, however, that the farmer had hidden himself in the big barn ready to spring out should “them fierce uns,” as he termed the animals, become refractory. Then began an extraordinary scene. Betty whispered in the dogs’ ears, and they grovelled at her feet. Then she sang a low song to them; and they stood upright, quivering with rapture. The two girls kept behind Betty, who was evidently the first in the hearts of these extraordinary dogs.
“I could teach them no end of tricks. They could be almost as lively and delightful as Andrew and Fritz,” said Betty, turning to her sisters.
“Oh yes,” they replied. Then Sylvia burst out crying.
“Silly Sylvia! What is the matter?” said Betty.
“It’s only that I didn’t know my heart was hungry until—until this very minute,” said Sylvia. “Oh, it is awful to live in a house without dogs!”
“I have felt that all along,” said Betty. “But I suppose, after a fashion, we’ve got to endure. Oh do stop crying, Sylvia! Let’s make the most of a happy time.”
The culmination of that happy time was when Mrs. Miles appeared on the scene, accompanied by four little children—two very pretty little girls, dressed in white, their short sleeves tied up with blue ribbons for the occasion; and two little boys a year or two older.
“These be the twinses,” said Mrs. Miles. “These two be Moses and Ephraim, and these two be Deborah and Anna. The elder of the twinses are Moses and Ephraim, and the younger Deborah and Anna. Now, then children, you jest drop your curtsies to the young ladies, and say you are glad to see them.”