Bessie had just turned into a sunny bit of road when an abject-looking white dog with a black patch over his eye suddenly wriggled himself through a half-closed gate.
“Why, I do believe that is Bill Sykes,” thought Bessie, as the creature stood looking at her. “Bill, what are you doing so far from home?” Bill wagged his tail feebly in a deprecating manner. “Why don’t you walk like a gentleman?” continued Bessie, and, to her great amusement, the dog rose solemnly on his hind legs and commenced stalking down the lane. Bessie burst into a laugh that was echoed by another voice.
“Well done, old Bill.” And, looking up, Bessie saw Richard Sefton leaning on the gate, with his dogs round him. “Don’t move, Miss Lambert,” he continued hastily; “stand where you are till I join you.” And as Bessie looked rather surprised at this peremptory speech, he walked quickly to her side and put his hand on her shoulder. “A friend, Leo. Excuse my unceremoniousness, Miss Lambert, but Leo needs an introduction;” and at his words a huge mastiff, who had been eyeing Bessie in a dubious manner, walked quietly up to her.
“Will it be safe for me to pat him?” asked Bessie, as she looked at the big tawny head and heavy jowl of the magnificent beast; but the brown sunken eyes had a friendly expression in them.
“Oh, yes, Leo will be as quiet as a lamb; and what is more, he will never forget you. You may go within the reach of his chain any day, and he will behave to you like a gentleman. Leo is an aristocrat, and never forgets noblesse oblige.”
“He is a splendid animal,” returned Bessie; and then she noticed the other dogs. They were all there: Gelert and Brand, and Juno and her puppies, and Spot and Tim.
“We have been for a long walk,” observed Richard, as they turned their faces homeward. “The dogs have been wild with spirits, and I had some difficulty with them at first. You see, they make the most of their weekly holiday.”
“What do you do on a wet Sunday?” asked Bessie curiously.
“Well, I smoke a pipe with them in the stable, and so give them the pleasure of my company. I do hate disappointing dumb animals, Miss Lambert—they have their feelings as well as we have, and I think we ought to behave handsomely to them. I remember when I was quite a little fellow my mother taught me that.”
“Your mother!” in some surprise, for somehow Mrs. Sefton never gave Bessie the impression that her relations with Richard were of the motherly sort.