She was just deciding that Waddles should have the honour of being the first to be photographed, as he would probably be ready sooner than her mother, when the burned-out log fell apart, and its parting glow showed her Happy, lying on the hearth-rug.
“You in here! This will never do; because, you see, when I bought you from Miss Jule, mother said that you might come here if I promised that I would never let you sleep inside the house, not even once; as, being a kennel dog so long, your manners are not quite those of a house fourfoot,—and I promised. Yes, I know it’s very nice in here; but your house is nice, too, for Baldy put in a new bed to-night, and you’ll be very comfy; and you know, my dear, you do snore horribly,—such loud, growling snores. Besides, Jack Waddles is out there alone waiting for you. Ah! do you mean to be spunky? Then I shall call father,—no, I forgot; he is busy in the study, and it’s a ‘mustn’t be’ to disturb him when he is there, you know,—only mother may do that. So don’t roll over on your back; you are far too heavy for me to carry.”
Anne gave a stamp and pointed to the door,—her way of telling the deaf little beagle that she meant business; and Happy got up slowly, and crept, rather than walked, out, and made directly for the nursery kennel, which she still occupied, without more ado. Jack was, of course, delighted to see her; but, strange to say, she did not return his caresses, but growled and snapped at him, and refused to let him go near the bedroom end of the house, which was separated from the front part and was full of straw. Instead of lying down at once, she rummaged about in the straw restlessly, throwing it out on the floor and refusing to lie down. After two rebuffs, Jack left the kennel, and stood looking disconsolately at Anne, who was quite puzzled, and finally allowed Jack Waddles to go back to the house with her, saying as they went: “This is quite a new arrangement, and to-morrow Jackie shall have a place of his own, if mamma is going to be cross. To-night, and maybe always, he shall be a house fourfoot, like his papa, if he will mind his ways and keep on his own rug.”
Next morning there was a still newer order of things that quite settled the matter of Jack’s quarters, and also gave Anne an unlimited chance for photography as well.
CHAPTER XII
THE SIXLETS
Anne was unusually drowsy the next morning, because she had not gone to sleep until quite late. Every time she began to sail off to the pleasant island where the Land of Nod is located, the new camera bobbed up and pushed her ashore again, and finally when she really drifted beyond its reach, she had a dim idea that it was skipping after her, on its long thin legs, like a water spider.
