“Meow! meow!” I cried suggestively, and I crawled slowly to Mary's feet.
She looked down at me. “If we go to the farm-house, I could take Black-Face, couldn't I?”
Her father nodded again.
“And Mona, and Slyboots, and Dolly, and the canaries?” pursued Mary in a delighted voice—“oh! how lovely. Hotel people are always so horrid about animals. Oh! Black-Face, what a lovely time we shall have,” and she caught me up, and walked slowly about the room.
She never runs and skips as other little girls do. It hurts her back.
“Black-Face,” she said suddenly, “wait here. I must, I just must go up-stairs, and tell nurse and Slyboots about this,” and she went as quickly as she could out into the hall.
Mrs. Denville looked significantly at her husband. “Mary does not like hotel life.”
He sighed heavily, and stared down at me, as I pressed up to his feet.
“I did not dream last year,” Mrs. Denville went on in a low voice, “until the summer was over, what the poor child was going through. The attention she excited as being set apart from other children, the sympathy from strangers, though grateful to her, was afflicting. You see, she is getting older and more self-conscious.”
“I knew it,” said Mr. Denville shortly.