“Poor little frightened thing,” she said at last, stroking Amarilla as she lay beside her. “She was so hungry and thirsty, Rudolph. And her poor bones are almost sticking through her skin.”
My blood boiled in my veins, when I thought of dainty Amarilla’s previous life, and the cosseting she had had from the old lady in Boston, but I must listen to what mistress was saying about Beanie.
“Rudolph,” she said hesitatingly, “I was thinking of asking you if I could get Beanie back. I don’t think I treated him just right.”
Master stopped to think a minute, then he said, “Claudia, if I had given your dog to Mrs. van der Spyten, would you have asked for him back?”
“Oh, no, no,” she said quite shocked at the idea.
“Then why take him from a charwoman?”
“I suppose it would be mean,” said mistress slowly.
“And here you have a beautiful and valuable dog right at hand,” said my master, pointing to Amarilla.
“As valuable as Beanie?” enquired mistress.
“Twice as valuable. Her points look to me about perfect.”