I wonder if they never think
Of the cat they’ve left behind them?”
CHAPTER XXII
A TALKING DOG
OUR Mary, on account of her lameness, has a little bedroom downstairs, just back of the dining room. Her mother does not worry about her being down there alone, for Billie always sleeps beside her bed in a box, and if any strange step is heard in the hall, or outside the open window, she gives her queer half bark, half scream, and rouses the family.
Our Mary used to have a young dog of her own to sleep beside her, a mongrel spaniel, but to her great grief some one stole the dog a year ago, and she has never known what became of it.
One day when I was talking to Billie about sleeping downstairs she told me that she would far rather be upstairs with Mrs. Martin, but at the same time she is very glad to do something to oblige our Mary, whom everybody loves.
“If any stranger dares to come near her room at night,” said Billie, “I’ll scream my head off. I hate night prowlers. They’re after no good. The Italians always locked up at nine o’clock and said that any one not in bed then was a thief.”
“But, Billie,” I said, “that is rather severe. Many nice persons are out after nine.”
“Well, I’ll bark at them,” she said stubbornly, “and if they’re honest it won’t hurt them, and if they’re rogues they’ll be caught.”