"Oh, do tell us, papa."
"Well, you are a pair of duffers. I thought you would have been sure to guess, but I'll go and fetch it."
Mr. Forester returned carrying a small hamper. There was straw poking out of it in places, and it was labelled, "This side up, with care."
"Oh, it's a new tea-set for the schoolroom," cried Blanche. "Mother said we needed one."
"No, it's not a new tea-set for the schoolroom, Miss Clever. There's a new pupil, and that's quite enough for any schoolroom. You're no good as a guesser, and yet you've been worrying my life out for weeks about this very thing."
Mr. Forester meanwhile was untying the string which fastened down the lid of the hamper. He slowly raised it, and there, curled up in the straw, lay a little black retriever puppy, its baby face puckered up partly in fear and partly in interest over this new experience.
"What a perfect little darling!" cried Blanche. "Oh, isn't he sweet? But how could you say some people might like to eat him, papa?"
"Well, I've heard of the Chinese eating puppy-dog stew; it comes after birds'-nest soup, you know."
"Papa!" indignantly.
Mr. Forester lifted the little fellow out of the basket and set him on the floor. He began running along with such a queer little waddle that they all laughed. Then he stopped and contemplated them questioningly, as much as to say, "What are you laughing at?"