As they entered the drive at Willowdale on their return, they saw a sweet-faced woman standing on the porch with a little woolly white dog beside her.
"That's Mrs. 'Artshorn," said Tom. "You can give the book to 'er. She'd like you to stop and speak to 'er."
Somewhat shyly the boys followed his advice, but Mrs. Hartshorn, like her husband, seemed to have the faculty of making them soon feel at their ease. She at once introduced them to Daisy, her toy white poodle. Daisy's long hair had been trimmed and clipped in a ridiculous manner that made the boys laugh, but she soon proved herself to be as smart as a whip. Mrs. Hartshorn put her through all her pretty tricks.
"I suppose, after seeing all those Airedales and bull terriers, you won't think much of my little dogs," said Mrs. Hartshorn. "Tom Poultice is very scornful about toys. But a dog is a dog, no matter how little. I want you to come in and see my prize Pomeranian, Tip."
They followed her into the house and up a broad staircase. At the top she turned and said:
"I think Tip is in the nursery with the baby. Don't be startled if he tries to eat you up. You needn't be quiet, because it's about time for baby's nap to be over."
She ushered them into the nursery, a pretty pink and white room, and there lay a handsome, chocolate-colored little dog on a mat beside a white crib. At the sight of strangers Tip growled a little and showed his white teeth.
"Don't you want to take a look at the baby?" asked Mrs. Hartshorn, with a twinkle in her eyes.
Harry Barton stepped bravely forward, but was met by an attack so savage that he hastily retired. Tip did not bark; barking was not permitted in the nursery. But he defended his charge with a ferocity quite out of proportion to his diminutive size.
"Lie down, Tip," said Mrs. Hartshorn, laughing. "It's all right." And Tip retired, grumbling, to his rug.