“Leigh,” said Mary, as he was lifting her down, “I is so f’ightened of those little dogs! Please don’t go to see them.”
“How can you be frightened of them, Mary?” said Leigh. “It’s really very silly! They’re only baby dogs, don’t you understand; they couldn’t hurt anybody.”
This was quite a new idea to Mary, and she stopped short on the second step of the stile to think about it.
“Baby dogs,” she said, “I never thought little dogs was babies. Is there babies of everything, Leigh?”
“Of course there are. Don’t you remember the baby ducks? And the little lambs are baby sheep, and even the tiny buds are baby flowers.”
“And babies never hurts nobody, does they?” said Mary, as she got safely to the ground again with the help of her brother’s hand. “Then I won’t be f’ightened, Leigh, of the little doggies. You may take me to see them,” and as Leigh hurried on to the smithy, which he thought the most delightful place in the world, Mary trotted beside him as fast as her little legs could go, holding firmly to him while she said over to herself, though in rather a trembling voice—
“I never thought them was baby dogs, babies don’t hurt nobody.”
Yakeman the smith was standing in front of his forge, taking a rest after the day’s work.
“Good-evening, Master Leigh,” he said, as the children came up to him. “Come for a look at the puppies, sir? They’re getting on finely. Would Missie like to see them too?” and he turned to open a little gate leading into his garden.
Leigh looked down at Mary, not quite sure what she would feel about it. Her face was rather red, and she pinched his hand more tightly.