The mistress of the house came. She was wearing a long blue traveling coat and a jaunty little hat against which the gold of her hair was resplendent as sunshine. Tucked under her arm was a wee dog with soft brown fur and sharp little eyes. Mrs. Crowninshield was very pretty, especially when she spoke. As Walter looked into her face he found it so amazingly youthful that it was difficult for him to believe she was actually the mother of a grown son and daughter.
"So it is you who are to be master of the kennels?" smiled she, showing her even white teeth.
"Yes, Mrs. Crowninshield," faltered His Highness, a trifle overcome by this new title.
From head to foot her glance swept over him.
"Well," said she at length, "if you keep the puppies as tidy as you keep yourself I fancy we shall get on nicely together."
A flood of color mounted to the lad's forehead. He had not anticipated such close inspection and instinctively he began to fumble with the corner of his sweater and look nervously down at his hands. They must be very dirty from making the fires. And he had been actually greeting Mr. and Mrs. Crowninshield with paws like those! The horror of it chilled his blood.
Apparently the woman, with swift intuition, read his thought for she dimpled at him in friendly fashion.
"Do not worry about your hands, my boy," said she. "You have been doing useful things to soil them, things to bid us welcome and make us more comfortable. I can see you started out clean. I have a boy of my own, you know. Richard," she went on, turning to a tall youth who was bending over the luggage, "this is Walter King who is coming to look after the kennels. He must be about your age."
The boys stared at each other awkwardly.
"I am fifteen," announced Walter for the lack of something more brilliant to say.