A thoroughbred Airedale came bounding out and almost ate them up.
Behind him appeared the funny fat little widow, who had an enormous chest and breathed with difficulty.
She called them "My dears," and invited them into a cool little parlour with old-fashioned furniture covered with horsehair and having a stuffed animal in each corner of the room.
I looked in the window. I detest stuffed animals. They often have moths in them and usually smell queer, and I can't understand what pleasure deadly musty creatures can give to human beings.
The bear cub, fox, wildcat and raccoon all seemed to be staring at the strange sight of a good-sized lamb lying on a red blanket.
It was a soiled and wilted kind of a lamb who was terribly bored at being kept in the house this warm day.
"How is your poor animal?" inquired Dovey in a grown-up way.
"Some better," said the widow. "Cheer up, Constancy, and look at your nice callers."
The lamb looked strangely at the children, then put her head down on the sofa cushion.
"It's bitters time, sweetheart," said the widow, and going to the mantel she took up a black bottle and holding back the lamb's lip poured some down her throat.