“But when Dolly’s a good bit bigger, and when Fuzzy is quite a trained dog, he may come into the house sometimes, mayn’t he?” said Leigh.
“At Auntie Maud’s,” said Artie, “there’s free dogs always lying in the hall. They get up and come and sniff you when you go in. When I was a little boy I was frightened of them, but they never bit me.”
“Ah! well,” said his father, “when Dolly’s a big girl and Fuzzy’s a big dog, we’ll see. Some dogs are very good indeed with little children; I hope he’ll be. I remember seeing a great Newfoundland that let his master’s children ride on his back, just as if he was a little pony. He stalked along as steadily as possible.”
“And in some countries,” said Leigh eagerly, “dogs are taught to draw little carriages, aren’t they? I’ve seen pictures of them, up where there’s such lots of snow near the top of the world. Squim—something, those people are called.”
“Esquimaux, you mean, I suppose,” said his father laughing. He had put down Mary by this time, and they were walking on slowly up the hill towards the Lavender Cottages. “Yes, and in other countries not so far off I’ve seen dogs drawing little carts as soberly as possible.”
“I would like to see that!” said Artie, his eyes sparkling.
“And so would I!” said Mary.
And Leigh, though he said nothing, took the idea into his mind more than either of the others.
By this time they were close to the top of the little hill where stood the cottages of which we have spoken so often—the Lavender Cottages as they were called; because once, a good many years ago, an old man lived there, whose lavender was famed all about that part of the country. He had a garden, almost like a little field, quite full of it. This garden belonged to one of the end cottages, and it was now a regular cottage kitchen-garden, with potatoes and cabbages and other vegetables growing in it, though in one corner there was still a nice little stock of the old lavender bushes. Here lived an old woman and her son, named Sweeting. Mrs Sweeting had once been cook at the hall when the children’s father was a little boy, and she was always pleased to have a visit from any of them.
“I hear poor old Mrs Sweeting has been ill,” said papa; “I’ll just go in for a minute or two to see her. You children can wait outside for me.”