Part 17 (1/2)

But nothing of the sort did happen. And time went on, till it grew to be nearly three weeks that our dear dog had been with us.

One evening papa came to us in the yard when we were saying good-night to Bruno.

”I suppose you're getting to think him quite your own,” he said. ”It certainly does not seem as if he were going to be owned. But what will mamma say to taking him home with us--eh, little people?”

”I don't think she'll mind,” said Persis. ”She loves him too--awfully.

And Archie and I are full of plans about how to manage him in London.”

”Ah, indeed,” said papa. ”Well, one of the first things to be done, it seems to me,” he went on, ”is to get him a collar,” and he drew a yard measure out of his pocket and measured Bruno's neck. ”I am going up to town to-morrow for two nights,” he then told us. ”You two can come to meet me at the station when I come back, with Eliza, of course, and this fellow, and you shall see what I can get in the way of a collar. I'll tell mamma the train, and you can all drive home with me.”

We thanked papa--it was very kind of him, and we said we'd like to go to meet him very much. But things seldom turn out as one expects. The day papa was to come mamma had to go to the little town near the station herself--something about a washerwoman it was--so she ordered a carriage, and we drove over with her. We were all at the station together to meet papa, and when he came he had brought the loveliest collar for Bruno--with his name on, and ours, and our address in London!

”_We_ won't risk losing him,” papa said.

Then he asked us if we wouldn't rather walk home, and we said we should, as we had driven there, and mamma didn't mind going back alone. So we set off, us two and papa. And we were so happy and so sure now of Bruno being ours, that we didn't notice that papa took the way down the lane that we had been once before.

We never noticed it, till we were close to the gate of the farm--the very farm where we had got milk--the very gate where----

And, just as we got up to it, it opened, and a girl, a lady, _the very one_, came out, not running and jumping, but walking quite quietly. But when she caught sight of us, of Bruno, and when he caught sight of her!

Oh! He rushed at her, and she threw her arms round him.

”Oh, my Rollo, my own dear naughty Rollo,” she called out, and I believe she was crying. ”Have you come back to me at last? Where _have_ you been?”

And Bruno--_our_ Bruno--went on wagging his tail and rubbing his nose on her, and pawing at her, just as he had done to us, only _more_!

Persis and I stood stock-still, feeling as if we _couldn't_ bear it.

CHAPTER IV

PAPA was the first to speak. The young lady went on hugging at Bruno, and taking no notice of any of us. Papa looked very grave. I think he thought it rather rude of her, even if she was so pleased to find her dog again, for she might have seen how well he had been taken care of, and what a beautiful new collar he had. Papa waited a minute or two, and then he said, rather grandly, you know----

”Excuse me, madam, for interrupting you. I should be glad of some explanation about the dog. Is he your dog?”

”_My_ dog,” said the girl, half sitting up and shaking her hair back. It had got messy with all her hugging at Bruno. ”I should rather think so.

I have nothing to explain. What do you mean?”

”I beg your pardon,” said papa. ”I have had the dog nearly a month, and during that time I have advertised him regularly. I have sent all about the neighbourhood to ask if any one had lost a dog, and altogether I have had a good deal of trouble and expense.”

The girl got rather red.

”I see,” she said, ”I didn't think of that. I was only so glad to find my dear dog. I'm very much obliged to you, I'm sure. I can tell you why your advertis.e.m.e.nts were never answered. We've been away for nearly a month, and the people here whom we lodge with have been very stupid about it. They missed Rollo as soon as we left, and took for granted we'd taken him with us after all. And we never knew till we came back two days ago that he was lost. He was lonely, you see, when he found I had gone, and I suppose he set out to look for me.”

”Yes,” said papa. ”Then I suppose there is nothing more to be said. My children must bear the disappointment; they had naturally come to look upon him as their own.”

Persis and I had turned away, so she couldn't see we were crying. We didn't want her to see; we didn't like her.

”I--I can't offer to pay you anything of what he's cost you, I suppose?”