Billie was trembling in every limb. “It’s something strange, Dicky-Dick. I can’t tell you how I feel.”
“Probably it’s a new dog,” I said. “Some one is always giving Missie one.”
“It’s no dog,” said Billie; “it’s no dog. Oh,
I feel so queer! Something peculiar is going to happen.”
I stared at her curiously. Billie is a very sensitive creature. Then I listened for Missie to come in.
Presently the door opened. “Well, my pets,” said Mrs. Martin heartily, “what do you think your Missie has brought you now?”
Billie looked terribly, but she ran to her dear mistress and fawned on her, casting meanwhile very nervous looks at the bulge in her coat.
“A present for you, Billie,” said Mrs. Martin, “a dear companion. I hope you will like her,” and opening her coat, she set on the floor an apparently nice little monkey.
Billie gave a gasp and the monkey a squeal. They knew each other. Even Mrs. Martin saw this. “Why, Billie!” she exclaimed. Then she watched the monkey running up to Billie, putting her arms round her, jabbering and acting like a child that has found its mother.
Billie did not like it, I saw, but she stood firm. “Where have you known each other?” said Mrs. Martin. Then with a touching and almost comical earnestness, she said, “Oh, why can I for once not understand all that my pets