“How’d I feel if my papa had w’ipped me when I wasn’t naughty!” said he. But he couldn’t possibly imagine it; for he had never been punished even by a “love-pat” in his whole little life.
Beppo was hugged half to death by the children; and the judge himself stroked his head, called him “fine fellow,” and fed him from his own hand with broiled beef-steak.
“Does he know you’re sorry, papa?” asked Pollio.
“Well, I think he has some notion of it: at any rate, he knows we’re good friends once more. See, he wags his tail, and looks quite cheerful again.”
“So he does,” laughed Posy, clapping her hands. “Real cheerful! I guess he’ll get over it, don’t you? He won’t think you are a bad man now.”
Posy could not bear to have him think her father a bad man; and it was plain that he did not, for he licked the judge’s hand after finishing the steak, and looked up in his face as if he trusted him with his whole heart.
“Dogs know ’most as much as folks,” said Posy. “I’ll make a chain of flowers, and we’ll put it on his neck, and I guess he’ll like it; don’t you?”
Pollio was sure he would be charmed. And, whether Beppo enjoyed the flowers or not, he must have known he was treated uncommonly well that day; for he had a dish of cream for dessert, and was allowed to spend most of his time in the parlor.
Now, what follows is not a dream or a fairy-story, though I know it will sound very strange. It really happened that morning, while the twins and uncle Rufus were in the parlor, and Beppo was lying on the rug, watching Pollio.
There was nothing remarkable about Beppo, except that he was a large, handsome dog. His eyes just now had an asking look, as if he longed to say something: but you have seen that sort of look in any dog’s eyes; it isn’t at all uncommon.