“You won’t never let me go away, will you, papa?” she whispered. “Not never, will you?”
“Not unless you want to go, certainly,” said her father, smiling down at her. “But now show me which is the puppy you’d like to have.”
Mary looked rather puzzled, and so, though they would not have owned it, were the boys.
“I think,” began Leigh, not at all sure of what he was going to say, but just then, luckily, Yakeman came to their help by picking up one of the puppies.
“This here is Miss Mary’s one. We’ve called it hers—the missis and I, ever since the last time you was here.”
He gave a little laugh, though he did not say what he was laughing at. To tell the truth, Mrs Yakeman and he had called the puppy “Miss Mary!”
Mary rubbed her nose, as she had done before, on the puppy’s soft curly head.
“It are so sweet,” she said. “We’re going to call him ‘Fuzzy.’ But, oh papa!” and her voice began to tremble. “Oh Leigh and Artie, I don’t think we should have him if it would make his poor mother unhappy to be leaved all alone.”
“It won’t be so bad as that, Miss Mary,” said the smith, who, though he was such a big man, had a very tender heart, and could not bear to see the little girl’s face clouded. “We’re going to keep Number 4 for ourselves, and after a day or two Beauty will be quite content with him. You can look in and see for yourselves when you’re passing.”
“Of course,” said Leigh, in his wise tone. “It’ll be all right, Mary. And we can bring Fuzzy to see his mother sometimes, to pay her a visit, you know.”