"I want a cweam-culled pony!" shouted The Seraph.
Father leaned over us with almost the expression of Mrs. Handsomebody in his eye.
"You shall all have ponies," he said, "any old colour you like, cream, or pink, or blue, if you'll shut up and be good."
Dazzled by the vision of a herd of rainbow-coloured ponies we suffered ourselves to be led in silence from the dining-room. Outside, father said, still with the look of Mrs. Handsomebody in his eye:
"I have to make a call on a lady in Argyle Road, my godmother. Do you feel prepared to come, and be good boys, or shall I send you back to your governess?"
"Argyle Road!" exclaimed Angel. "That's where Giftie lived."
"Want to see Giftie!" came from The Seraph, "and Colin."
"Are you going to be good?"
"Rather," said Angel. "Please take us."
Another hansom was called. We were quite prepared to see it stop before the large square house where Giftie lived. It stopped. There was a clamour of barks from three Scottish terriers as we entered the gate. In a second I had Giftie in my arms; her little, hard wriggling body pressed to my breast; her little red tongue showing between her pointed white teeth. She was wild with the joy of welcoming us, but Colin walked solemnly away, his tail very much in the air. The third dog I felt sure was one of Giftie's pups. "His name is Tam," shouted the tall grey-haired lady, having suddenly appeared, and I discovered then that we were in the drawing-room, and pulled off my cap, and smiled up at her.