“Come and look at your doggies, Archie,” she said without looking up. “I have taken possession of them, or they have taken possession of me. Where did you find such delights? There is nothing so nice as a puppy, except a baby perhaps—and you, I know, would not appreciate that.”
“Why would I not appreciate that?” said Archie roughly (being thereto moved by suggestions from Aunty Jane.)
Mrs. Rowland gave a glance up at the clouded countenance of the sullen boy, surprised but saying nothing, and he ended as he generally did when alone with her, by feeling ashamed of himself.
“They’re Rankin’s doggies—a particular breed,” he added more civilly than usual to make up. “He’s the old gamekeeper, and he’s given himself up to dogues ever since his accident.”
This was quite a long speech for Archie to make.
“He has given himself up to it with great success,” said Evelyn. “You must take me to see him. These are just at the most delightful stage. I said there was nothing so nice except a baby. But kittens are almost as nice before they grow to be cats.”
“They cannot be so nice,” said Archie, “because they do grow to be cats; and these will be dogues when they’re grown up.”
Evelyn pondered a little over this dogmatic proposition before she answered: “You put it in an original way, but I think I agree with you, Archie. And what are these little things called—or have they got names—or shall we confer some on the spot?”
“Rankin hasn’t much imagination: he calls them just Roy and Dhu—that means red and black in Gaelic. But you spell the last D-h-u.”
“Roy and Dhu are very good names,” said Evelyn. “I would keep to them, I think: they sound well even if Rankin has not much imagination.”