Charmed with these children, whose grandfather I found had been a Canadian naturalist, who had built aviaries and houses for birds and animals in his park, I said, “Well, you may bring Guinea to me, but only as a loan. I will give her back to you in the spring.”
The little girls thanked me heartily, and said, “Now she will not be lonely. We have to keep her in our basement when we are away at school, and sometimes we think she is cold.”
I told them that our basement contained plenty of hot-water pipes, and that I hoped the rabbit would be a good friend to their Piggy.
They went away, and some days later, when I was not at home, they arrived with the pig in a basket.
Lizzie doubtfully took the basket up to my mother, who was in bed.
“A peeg for Miss Marshall.”
My long-suffering mother, accustomed to a great variety of pets in times past, had never yet had a pig foisted upon her, though she had put up with a snake.
“A pig!” she exclaimed, “in that basket! It must be a young one. Put your hand in, Lizzie.”
Lizzie, though usually demure and obedient, flatly refused, whereupon my mother said, “Perhaps there is some mistake. If my daughter intended to have a pig, she would have got a larger one than this. Tell the little girls they may leave it, if they like, but perhaps it would be safer to call again with it.”
The little girls refused most decidedly to leave the pig, and when I came home I felt badly, knowing that they must have been disappointed.