“We will drag the pond for it to-morrow; it is probably as safe from burglars there at the bottom as if it was on the sideboard,” said Pinkie’s father, who hated a fuss. But then it was not his grandmother’s basket.
“What would dear grandma have said to this?” asked Pinkie’s mother of her sister. The idea was too appalling to admit of an answer, for Pinkie’s great-grandmother belonged to that particular puritanic time when children though seen were said to have never been heard, and dogs? Well, dogs were merely four-legged brutes, who were fed upon what nothing else would eat. One custom of the far-away period, however, happened to Pinkie that night—she was spanked.
Waddles, on returning from escorting Tommy to the party that afternoon, threw himself down under the lilac bushes for a nap. He was in a huff, as during his brief stay at Pinkie’s his keen nose had scented the presence of the five-o’clock tea biscuits, which his heart craved. No one had asked him to stay or given him a biscuit, and he felt himself insulted both in his private capacity and as Mayor of Dogtown.
Toward sunset he awoke with a yawn; it was past the time to go for the cows, he had slept and missed a trick for once. Suddenly a howling and baying caused him to prick up his ears, and at the same moment the procession of dogs cut cornerwise from the orchard across the garden and away toward the woods and pond.
Waddles started to follow them, but as he had nearly reached the corner of the wall something glittering caught his eye, and a beloved smell seized on his nose at the same time. There at the edge of the cobbled gutter lying on its side was the precious cake basket with fully half of the box of five-o’clock teas beside it on the ground.
Waddles’s eyes glistened. He sniffed with long sniffs of enjoyment, he licked his lips, and looking round cautiously from time to time ate up every biscuit and every crumb, then walked slowly off, head erect, and tail held gaily as much as to say, “Some poor dogs have to go to parties, others have the party brought to them.”
The next morning when Anne went out early to gather flowers for the breakfast table, she found the silver basket still lying on its side. Picking it up joyfully, for every one now knew of its loss, and finding that it was unharmed, she sent it at once to its owner. Waddles, who was with her, gave no sign of recognition, but tiptoed steadily along on the other side of the walk.