“I thought last Christmas,” said Bess, “when I had the white bride doll, that I never should want nothing no more. But now that I have the pug Prince, I know I shall never want anything again, not if I live to be a hundred.”
“Wait till the next time,” I laughed. At that moment I heard a scratching at the study door, which opens upon the chapel hall. I opened it and took Mouse gently by the collar.
“Bess,” I said, while I held on tightly, “the introduction must be made, but with tact,” and I and Mouse returned together.
I put the puppy on the rug. Mouse looked at it sadly and then walked severely away.
“Why does she behave like that?” asked Bess. “See, Mouse is whining and wants to go out.”
“She is jealous,” I said.
“Why should she mind?”
“Think, Bess,” I replied, “what would you say if there came here a new baby, a new helpless little thing. Might it not be just a little bit of a trial to you, don’t you think, when you saw all the world running about to welcome it, cake, tea, milk, cream, all ordered for it at once? We none of us like being put in the shade, not even Mouse.”
Bess looked at me, and then putting the pug down, she cast her arms effusively round the great hound’s neck.
“You must forgive my little pup,” she said coaxingly, “and not hate presents, even if they are for other people,” and a shower of kisses followed.