“No, my dear boy, that isn’t his habit. The dear little dog sleeps, as a rule, until just the last moment. Then I lift him gently, and carry him downstairs for his cream.”
“I wonder how he likes that bare beef bone?” murmured Fly, almost aloud.
“He’s sure to come home for his cream in a moment or two!” said David.
He gave Fly a violent kick under the table.
“Helen,” said Mrs. Cameron, “be sure you keep Scorpion’s cream.”
“There isn’t any,” replied Helen. “I was obliged to send it up to father. There was not nearly so much cream as usual this morning. I had scarcely enough for father.”
“You don’t mean to tell me you have used up the dog’s cream?” exclaimed Mrs. Cameron. “Well, really, that is too much. The little animal will starve, he can’t touch anything else. Oh, where is he? My little, faithful pet! My lap feels quite empty without him. My dear children, I trust you may never love—love a little creature as I love Scorpion, and then lose him. Yes, I am seriously uneasy, the dog would not have left me of his own accord.”
Here, to the astonishment of everybody, and the intense indignation of Mrs. Cameron, Fly burst into a scream of hysterical laughter, and hid her face in Polly’s neck.
“What a naughty child!” exclaimed the good lady. “You have no sympathy with my pet, my darling! Speak this minute. Where is the dog, miss?”
“I expect in his grave,” said Fly.