“Indeed!” exclaimed her listener in surprise.
“Yes, miss, it’s thrue as prachin’; just see now! we always have to feed him wid a silver fork too.” And taking up a bit in her fingers she offered it, saying coaxingly, “Ate it now, me jewel; it’s illegant, tender, and swate.”
He did not so much as sniff at it, but looked her steadily in the face, with a little growl, as much as to say, “Do you mean to insult me?”
She began to sing, still holding the bit of meat in her fingers and bringing it a little nearer to his nose.
He snapped at her with a short, sharp bark, and, laughing, she took up another piece with a silver fork, and silently offered it.
He only repeated his growl.
She began her song again, still holding out the piece on the fork, and he took it at once and devoured it greedily.
The door opened, and a comely woman, older and more staid in appearance than the merry, talkative Kathleen, came in, asking in a tone of irritation,
“What’s the matter here? what are you doing to Madame’s pet? she sent me down to see if he was getting abused.”
“Niver a bit at all, at all, Mary, me dear; sure an’ it’s mesilf that likes the little baste wid it’s cunnin’ thricks too well to abuse it, let alone that I’d niver hurt a livin’ crayther. Och, ye varmint! take it, will yees?” offering another choice morsel; “can’t yer see with half an eye that even the like o’ me can’t talk an’ sing both at onct? It’s worse than a babby yees are! Tra, la, la, la, la la!”