he'd be ours, our very own," said Mary, at last explainingwhat they were in trouble about. For though the three had said nothingto each other, each knew that the others were thinking and feeling thesame.
"We meant to fetch him ourselves," said Leigh again.
"We was going to give him his breakfast and dinner and tea in thenursery," chimed in Artie.
"I was p'annin'," added Mary, "that he'd sleep in our beds in turns. Ididn't tell Leigh and Artie. I were going to 'apprise them. But Imeaned to let it be in turns."
Papa began to laugh. So did Yakeman. They could not help it.
"Sleep in your cots," said papa. "There wouldn't be much left of thecots or you by the morning."
"He wouldn't _eat_ us," said Leigh, looking rather startled.
"Not exactly," said his father. "But if he took to rolling on the topof you and making hay of the bedclothes--just look at him now tumblingabout in the straw with his brothers--you would not be likely to have avery good night."
"And if he had three meals a day in the nursery, there'd not be muchleft of _he_ in a week or less," said Yakeman.
The children looked very surprised.
"_We_ always have breakfast and dinner and tea," said Artie, "and littledogs is hungry too."
"Ah! yes," said the smith; "but they couldn't do with as much as that.And it'd never do neither for the puppy to eat all as you eats, MasterArtie. Puppies isn't little young gentlemen and ladies, and everycreature has its own ways. He'll be all right in the stable, never youfear, and Mr Mellor'll see as he has all he should."
But still the three faces did not clear. Leigh moved away as if he weregoing to the gate, flicking his boots with a little whip he had in hishand, to seem as if he did not care, though in reality he was verynearly crying. And Artie's and Mary's faces grew longer and longer.
"I don't think I want to have him," she said at last. "Zank you, MrYakeman, and zank you, papa; but him wouldn't be _nours_--him'd beMellor's," and then there came a little choke in Mary's voice and amisty look in her eyes, and in a moment Artie's pocket-handkerchief wasout of his pocket and he was rubbing her cheeks with all his might.
"_Don't_ cry, Mary," he said; "_please_, don't cry. P'raps papawon't--"
I am not quite sure what he was going to say. I am not sure that heknew himself. But whatever it was, he was interrupted. For beforeMary's tears had had time to begin their journey down her face, papa hadpicked her up in his arms and was busy comforting her. He could notbear to see her cry! Really, it was rather a wonder that she was notspoilt.
"My pet," he said, "there is truly nothing to cry about. The puppy--what is it you call him, Fudge or Fuss--"
Mary could not help laughing a little. Fancy calling a puppy "Fudge."
"No, papa dear; _Fuzzy_--that's what we was going to call him."
"Well, darling, Fuzzy shall be your very own. You shall go to see himin the stables whenever you like; I'll tell Mellor. And he will go outwalks with you--the puppy, I mean, not Mellor--as soon as ever he haslearnt to follow." This made Mary laugh again. The idea of Mellorgoing out a walk with them all, following behind like a well-behaveddog. For Mellor was not very young, and he had a broad red face and wasrather fat.
Papa was pleased to hear Mary laughing, even though it was rather ashaky little laugh, and he went on to explain more.
"You see he's not the sort of dog that you can have in the house,particularly not in the nursery," he said. "Indeed, I hardly think thatany dog except a very old and tried one is safe in a nursery, above all,where there's such a little baby as--"
"Dolly," said Mary quietly, to show that she had not forgotten what babywas to be called.
"Yes, as Dolly," her father went on. "They would be two babiestogether, and they might hurt each other without meaning it. Dollymight pull Fuddle's hair--"
At this all three children burst out laughing, quite a hearty laugh thistime.
"Oh, papa dear," said Mary, "what a very bad mem'ry you've got! Itisn't _Fuddle_! Can't you say _Fuzzy_?"
"Fuzzy, _Fuzzy_, Fuzzy," said papa, speaking like the three bears turnedthe wrong way. "There, now, I think I've got it into my stupid old headat last. Well, as I was saying, Miss Dolly might pull Master Fuzzy'shair, without meaning to hurt him of course, and he might turn round andsnap at her, not exactly meaning to hurt her either, but still--it mightbe rather bad, you see." Mary's face grew very grave.
"I never thought of that," she said solemnly. "It would be dedful fordear little baby Dolly to be hurted, though I'm kite sure Fuzzy wouldn'tmean it."
"But when Dolly's a good bit bigger, and when Fuzzy is quite a traineddog, he may come into the house sometimes, mayn't he?" said Leigh.
"At Auntie Maud's," said Artie, "there's _free_ dogs always lying in thehall. They get up and come and sniff you when you go in. When I was alittle boy I was frightened of them, but they never bit me."
"Ah! well," said his father, "when Dolly's a big girl and Fuzzy's a bigdog, we'll see. Some dogs are very good indeed with little children; Ihope he'll be. I remember seeing a great Newfoundland that let hismaster's children ride on his back, just as if he was a little pony. Hestalked along as steadily as possible."
"And in some countries," said Leigh eagerly, "dogs are taught to drawlittle carriages, aren't they? I've seen pictures of them, up wherethere's such lots of snow near the top of the world. Squim--something,those people are called."
"Esquimaux, you mean, I suppose," said his father laughing. He had putdown Mary by this time, and they were walking on slowly up the hilltowards the Lavender Cottages. "Yes, and in other countries not so faroff I've seen dogs drawing little carts as soberly as possible."
"I _would_ like to see that!" said Artie, his eyes sparkling.
"And so would I!" said Mary.
And Leigh, though he said nothing, took the idea into his mind more thaneither of the others.
By this time they were close to the top of the little hill where stoodthe cottages of which we have spoken so often--the Lavender Cottages asthey were called; because once, a good many years ago, an old man livedthere, whose lavender was famed all about that part of the country. Hehad a garden, almost like a little field, quite full of it. This gardenbelonged to one of the end cottages, and it was now a regular cottagekitchen-garden, with potatoes and cabbages and other vegetables growingin it, though in one corner there was still a nice little stock of theold lavender bushes. Here lived an old woman and her son, namedSweeting. Mrs Sweeting had once been cook at the hall when thechildren's father was a little boy, and she was always pleased to have avisit from any of them.
"I hear poor old Mrs Sweeting has been ill," said papa; "I'll just goin for a minute or two to see her. You children can wait outside forme."
The boys and Mary were not sorry to do so. They were always fond ofcoming to the Lavender Cottages, not only to see Mrs Sweeting who wasvery kind to them, but because they were much interested in the familyof children who lived next door. There were such a lot of them! Thecottage would never have held them all; but luckily, in the thirdcottage, at the other end again, lived the grandfather and grandmotherof the large family, and some of the bigger boys had a room in theirhouse. Still there were plenty left in the middle cottage, as you willhear.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
THE PERRY FAMILY AND PAPA'S STORY.
Besides the three big boys, the children had counted six more youngPerrys in the middle one of the Lavender Cottages, and by degrees theyhad found out most of their names. The eldest girl was about twelve,and her name was a very funny one--it was Comfort.
"How tired she must be of people saying to her that they hope she's acomfort to her father and mother," said Leigh, when he first heard hername. I think nurse told it him, for she knew something of the Perrys,and the odd name had taken her fancy.
Comfort was rather a tall girl for her age, and she was clever atschool, where she often got prizes. But the next to her, a short,rosy-faced child called Janie
, who was generally seen carrying about thebaby, a very motherly little girl, seemed as if her elder sister's namewould have suited her better. After Janie came Ned, and after Ned threelittle creatures so near each other that they all looked like babiestogether, and it was difficult to tell whether they were boys or girls.The quite youngest--the one that all the rest of them called "baby"--spent most of its life seemingly in Janie's arms. I _suppose_
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