Part 39 (1/2)

I wouldn't take it upon me to fetch him up to our place without I asked the Missus first, and they call me the Master, too.”

”Are you sure your Mother won't mind?” whispered Jim.

”Certain,” said Bobbie.

”Then we're to take him up to Three Chimneys?” said the bailiff.

”Of course,” said Peter.

”Then my lad shall nip up to Doctor's on his bike, and tell him to come down there. Now, lads, lift him quiet and steady. One, two, three!”

Thus it happened that Mother, writing away for dear life at a story about a d.u.c.h.ess, a designing villain, a secret pa.s.sage, and a missing will, dropped her pen as her work-room door burst open, and turned to see Bobbie hatless and red with running.

”Oh, Mother,” she cried, ”do come down. We found a hound in a red jersey in the tunnel, and he's broken his leg and they're bringing him home.”

”They ought to take him to the vet,” said Mother, with a worried frown; ”I really CAN'T have a lame dog here.”

”He's not a dog, really--he's a boy,” said Bobbie, between laughing and choking.

”Then he ought to be taken home to his mother.”

”His mother's dead,” said Bobbie, ”and his father's in Northumberland.

Oh, Mother, you will be nice to him? I told him I was sure you'd want us to bring him home. You always want to help everybody.”

Mother smiled, but she sighed, too. It is nice that your children should believe you willing to open house and heart to any and every one who needs help. But it is rather embarra.s.sing sometimes, too, when they act on their belief.

”Oh, well,” said Mother, ”we must make the best of it.”

When Jim was carried in, dreadfully white and with set lips whose red had faded to a horrid bluey violet colour, Mother said:--

”I am glad you brought him here. Now, Jim, let's get you comfortable in bed before the Doctor comes!”

And Jim, looking at her kind eyes, felt a little, warm, comforting flush of new courage.

”It'll hurt rather, won't it?” he said. ”I don't mean to be a coward.

You won't think I'm a coward if I faint again, will you? I really and truly don't do it on purpose. And I do hate to give you all this trouble.”

”Don't you worry,” said Mother; ”it's you that have the trouble, you poor dear--not us.”

And she kissed him just as if he had been Peter. ”We love to have you here--don't we, Bobbie?”

”Yes,” said Bobbie--and she saw by her Mother's face how right she had been to bring home the wounded hound in the red jersey.

Chapter XIII. The hound's grandfather.

Mother did not get back to her writing all that day, for the red-jerseyed hound whom the children had brought to Three Chimneys had to be put to bed. And then the Doctor came, and hurt him most horribly.

Mother was with him all through it, and that made it a little better than it would have been, but ”bad was the best,” as Mrs. Viney said.