It was impossible to describe the change that came over the dog as Richard spoke to him in this kindly fashion; his whole body quivered with pleasure as he sprung up and licked Richard’s hands.
“What do you think, Miss Lambert? I found Bill one day tearing through Melton with a tin kettle tied to his tail, hunted by a pack of rascally school-boys; one of the little wretches had thrown a stone at him, and poor Bill was bleeding. I managed to stop him, somehow, and to free the poor beast from his implement of torture, and left him licking his wound by the roadside, while I caught two of the boys and thrashed them soundly. I reserved thrashing the others until a convenient season, but they all caught it. I read them a pretty lesson on cruelty to animals. Bill followed me home, and I have never parted with him since. The other dogs disdained his company at first, but now they tolerate him, and, on the whole, I think he leads a pleasant life. He knows he is of humble extraction, and so he keeps in the background, but he is a clever dog; he can walk across the yard on his hind legs—the gardener’s boy taught him the trick. Now, then, Bill, walk like a gentleman.” And Bill obediently rose on his hind legs and stalked across the yard with an air of dignity, followed by a fat, rollicking puppy, barking with all his might.
Bill had just received his meed of praise when the gong sounded, and they had to hurry in to breakfast. They found Edna in a bewitching white morning dress.
“I hope I am not late,” observed Bessie, apologetically. “Mr. Sefton took me to see the dogs. I did so enjoy looking at them; they are such beautiful creatures.”
“Yes, especially Bill Sykes,” returned Edna sarcastically. “Well, there is no accounting for tastes,” with a critical look at Bessie’s neat blue cotton. “I never venture in the yard myself, unless I have an old ulster on. I could not put on my dress again if all those scratchy paws had been over it. Richard does not train them properly; they all spring up and nearly knock me down in their clumsy gambols.”
“They are like their master, eh, Edna?” returned Richard good-humoredly. “Mother, shall I give you some ham? What time do you mean to bring Miss Lambert to the lower meadow, Edna? We shall be carrying this evening.”
“Oh, you need not expect us at all,” returned Edna, to Bessie’s disappointment. “I quite forgot the Atherton’s are coming this afternoon, to practice for to-morrow.”
“I thought Miss Lambert wanted to see us make hay,” observed Richard, looking at Bessie as he spoke; but she replied hastily:
“Not if your sister has other plans, Mr. Sefton, thank you all the same; I would rather do as she wishes.”
“Yes, and you are fond of lawn tennis, are you not? We have a garden party to-morrow, and you ought to practice, you see. I want you to know the Athertons; they are such nice girls, Florence especially; plenty of go in them, and no nonsense.”