“Won’t that be splendid,” I said. “Beanie is frightfully worried about leaving Mrs. Granton.”
“He is a regular steady and true dog,” said Gringo. “When he came, he didn’t know which to follow, old Ellen, or your mistress, so he settled it, by tracking one of them for half a day, and the other for the next half.”
I laughed at this, and Gringo went on. “The other day, I saw your boss watching Ellen with joy on his face. It was in your greenhouse, and young George had yanked a hyacinth from a pot. Ellen half cried, and said the poor mother hyacinth had been in prison in the black earth, and finally she worked her way out, and shook her curls at the sun, and then George came along, and tore her all to bits. The youngster sniffed too, and helped Ellen tie mother hyacinth up with a bit of string. Your boss liked that. He hates to see his boy destroy life.”
“Good,” I said, “I hope she’ll stay. Do you suppose, Gringo, if those two young scamps that stole me had had the same chance that George has, they would be so bad?”
“’Course not,” said the old dog.
“Then why in heaven’s name,” I said, “don’t human beings give all the boys and girls an equal chance?”
“Give it up,” said Gringo.
“I believe it’s selfishness,” I said, blinking my eyes in the bright sunlight on the snow, for my sight had got weak in my prison.
“There’s Sir Walter,” said Gringo, “giving his hens a last run before sundown. He keeps them in fine shape. See him nose them along. He’s a wise dog.”