“Would you like to see them, Mary?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, I’m not f’ightened now,” she answered bravely.
“You’ve no call to be afear’d,” said Yakeman, as he led the way.
“No,” said Mary, “’cos them’s only babies.”
The puppies were all tumbling over each other in a comfortable nest of hay in the corner of a shed. There were four of them, brown curly balls, nearly as soft and fluffy as Leigh’s favourite ducklings.
Yakeman stooped down and picked one up with his big hand and held it close to Mary. She stroked it gently with the very tip of her fingers.
“It are sweet,” she said, with a rather shaky little laugh, and as no harm came of her touching it, she grew still braver.
“May I kiss its little head?” she said, looking up at the tall blacksmith, who smiled down on her.
“To be sure, Missie,” said he, so Mary buried her nose in the brown fur, suddenly giving a little cry as she felt something warm and wet on her cheek.