'"Those are Italians or Spaniards, mamma, look what dark eyes they have, and those are——" I suddenly stopped. "Oh, mamma!" I exclaimed, and when she looked at me, she saw I had grown quite pale, and in another moment, seeing to what I was pointing, she understood the reason. There, right before us, coming slowly up the middle of the Place, Bessie in the middle, each child with a hand of hers tugging back manfully in the old way, each, yes, really, each under the other arm hugging a woolly lamb, came the two funny little trots!
'I felt at first as if I were dreaming. Could it be the trots? I sat still in a half stupid way, staring, but Gip—I was forgetting to tell you that of course Gip had come with us to Pau—Gip had far more presence of mind than I. He did not stop to wonder how it could be the trots, he was simply satisfied that it was the trots, and forwards he darted, leaping, barking furiously, wagging his tail, giving every sort of welcome in dog language, that he could think of.
'"Dip, Dip; see Bessie, here is a doggie like Dip," said one trot.
'"Dip, Dip, pretty Dip," said the other.
'The sound of their voices seemed to bring back my common sense. They were my own dear trots. "Dip, Dip" would have satisfied me, even if I had not seen them. The trots never could manage the letter "G!" I flew forwards, and kneeling down on the ground, little caring how I soiled my nice new dress, or what the people on the Place thought of me, I regularly hugged my two pets.
'"Here is Dip's kind lady too," they both said at once, smiling and happy, but not by any means particularly surprised to see me. I looked up at Bessie at last, and held out my hand. She shook it heartily.
'"I am pleased to see you again, miss, to be sure; who would have thought it?" she said. "And they haven't forgot you, haven't Doll and Dot. They are always speaking of Gip and you, miss."
'"But, Bessie," I began, and then I hesitated. How could I tell her what I had thought? "How was it you left St. Austin's so suddenly?"—the trots were not in mourning now, they were prettily dressed in dark blue sailor serge, as bunchy as ever.
'Bessie thought for a minute.
'"Let me see," she said, "oh yes, I remember! We did leave suddenly. My mistress's father died, and she was sent for off to Edinburgh, and she took Doll and me, and left Dot to keep her papa company. Master said he'd be lost without one of them, and he couldn't get off to Edinburgh for a fortnight after us. But we'll never try that again, miss. Dot did nothing but cry for Doll, and Doll for Dot. Dot, so Martha the housemaid said, was always saying, 'Doll's done to 'Ebben,' till it was pitiful to hear, and Dot was just as bad in Edinburgh about Doll."