“I wonder which dog ate the five-o’clock teas?” said Anne to herself. “They were scattered through the fields, most likely.”
Only Waddles and Hamlet could answer this question, and—there is honour among dogs. Anne noticed, however, that from the day of the party Hamlet became an esteemed member of the Dogtown council—such is political influence!
CHAPTER VIII
A HEN PARTY
One day a letter came to Miss Letty from her Aunt Marie in France, asking if she was homesick, and if she did not wish to come back and go to Switzerland with them, “for,” the letter translated said, “it will not be long, at most, before you will rejoin us. My gay little one could never remain in that strange country of wild dogs when the winter comes, she would be desolate for Paris. That word will not now mean the black dress, plain fare, and high brick wall of the school; but the opera, fêtes, bonbons, enchanting costumes, and a handsome husband, for your uncle has already in thought two suitable alliances between which we are willing you should yourself choose. If, however, you remain still longer with the incomprehensible Aunt Julie, be careful, my angel, of your complexion, and never go out without the heavy brown veil above the white one, for I am told that the sun in America is most cruelly piercing.
“One word as to the beloved poodle, Hamlet. See that his coat is well oiled and preserved, and that he does not play with strange dogs or walk out in the morning before the dew has dried, and then only in the shade and with caution, for we intend to exhibit him at the Xmas fête that Madame de B—— is to hold to benefit the hospice for sick dogs. He shall do his tricks under your teaching and you two will have a success superb.”
Anne was sitting in the window of Miss Letty’s pretty room when the letter was brought, and she wondered why her friend grew so pale as she read it, and when she suddenly threw herself, face down, on the pretty white bed and began to sob, Anne, thoroughly frightened, for Miss Letty was always gay and smiling, put her arms around her, and begged to know if her aunt was sick.
“No, read it, it’s about going home; just when I had almost forgotten that I had ever lived anywhere but here—it’s too bad—read it,” and she thrust the crumpled letter at Anne, burying her head in the pillow again.