Mary still looked rather doubtful, but her father caught her up and set her on his knee with a kiss.
“Thank you, my princess,” he said, “for standing up for your poor old father. Now, what can I do for you? I’ve got a nice long holiday before me, all to-day and all to-morrow at home, so I’m quite at your service.”
Mary looked up. She did not quite understand what “quite at your service” meant, and it was her way when she did not understand anything to think it over for a moment or two before she asked to have it explained. It is not a bad way to do, because there are often things a child can get to understand by a little thinking, and some children have a silly way of never using their own minds if they can help it.
“Why don’t you answer, Mary?” said Leigh. “I know what I’d say, if papa offered to do anything I wanted, and I think you might remember what we’re all wanting so much.”
Mary’s face cleared.
“I didn’t understand,” she said. “But I do now. O papa dear, will you come and see the sweet little doggie at the smiffy? We’ve been waiting and waiting.”
“Oh dear,” said her father, “I’d forgotten all about it. Yes, of course I’ll take a look at it. Let’s see: they’re retriever pups, aren’t they?” Leigh did not answer for a moment. To tell the truth, he was not quite sure what kind of dogs Yakeman’s were, though he did not like to say so. “They are brown and curly,” he said at last. “And the top of our one’s head is nearly as soft as—as baby,” added Mary.
“Baby would be flattered,” said her father. “We’re going to call it Fuzzy,” Mary went on. “It are so very soft.”
“And oh, by the by,” said papa, “you’ve never chosen a name for your little sister, so mamma and I have had to fix on one. What do you think of Dorothea?”
The children looked at their father doubtfully.