The children's father came back late that night, but too late for them
to see him. And the next morning he had to be off again, this time for
two whole days together, so there was no chance of asking him about the
dog. Leigh and Mary spoke of it to their mother, but dogs are things
that papas have most to do with, and she could only say, "You must ask
papa."
It was rather trying to have to wait so long to know about it, or at
least it would have been so if Mary had not had so many other
interesting things to think about just then. There were all her
birthday presents, her "regular" birthday presents, as the boys called
them, which were still of course quite new, not to speak of the baby,
which seemed to Mary more wonderful every time she saw her.
Unless you really live with a baby, and that, as you know, had never
happened to Mary before, you can have no idea how very interesting
babies are, even when they are so tiny that they can do nothing but go
to sleep and wake again, and cry when they are hungry, and stretch
themselves and yawn, and make oh! such funny faces! Why, that is quite
a long list of things to do already, and there are ever so many more
queer little ways about a baby when you come to notice them. Even its
little pink toes seemed to Mary the prettiest and funniest things she
had ever seen in her life.
Leigh and she fixed together that, till they had asked their father
about the dog, they would not go past the smithy.
"It only makes us fink about it," said Mary.
And nurse, who, to tell the truth, was not very eager for them to get
the puppy, was not sorry when the children asked her not to pass that
way.
"Miss Mary is still frightened of Yakeman's dogs," she thought to
herself, "and it's just as well. I don't know whatever we'd do if we
had to take a puppy out walks with us as well as Miss Baby."
For of course nurse knew that before long, when the baby grew a little
bigger, she would come to live in the nursery altogether and go out
walks with the others. Just at first nurse would carry her, but after
awhile she would go in the new perambulator which nurse had set her
heart upon getting.
That reminds me of Mary's present from her father and mother, which, as
I told you, was a doll's perambulator. It was a great amusement to them
all, not only to Mary. You have no idea what a lot of fun you can get
out of a doll's perambulator. It was not only the dolls that went
drives in it; the children tried several other things which did not
succeed very well. The kitten for one did not like it at all. Leigh
caught it one day, when there was no one else to take a drive, for the
dolls had all got very bad colds, and Doctor Artie had said that they
must on no account go out. Mary looked very grave at this, but of
course the doctor's orders had to be obeyed.
"What shall we do?" she said sadly. "It will be so dull to go out a
walk wifout the perambulator," for till now the dolls had had a drive
every day.
"Leave it to me," said Leigh, "you'll find some one all ready waiting
when you come down to go out."
And sure enough when nurse and Mary arrived at the door, there was the
perambulator, and seated in the doll's place, or rather tied into it,
was a very queer figure indeed--the kitten, as I told you, looking and
feeling perfectly miserable.
Leigh had done his best to make it comfortable. He had tied it in with
a large soft handkerchief very cleverly, but it was mewing piteously all
the same.
"Come along quick, Mary," he said, "Kitty's in a great hurry to be off;
she doesn't like being kept waiting, that's what she's saying."
Mary looked as if she was not quite sure if that was what Kitty's mews
really meant, but of course, as Leigh was so much bigger and older, she
thought he must know best. So she began pushing the perambulator, very
gently at first, for fear of frightening poor pussy, who was so much
astonished at feeling herself moving that for a moment or two she left
off mewing.
"There now," said Leigh, "you see how she likes it. Go faster, Mary."
Mary set off running as fast as she could, which was not very fast,
however, for at four years old, one's legs are still very short, but she
did her best, as she wanted to please Leigh and the kitten too. The
garden path was smooth and it was a little down hill. Leigh scampered
on in front, Mary coming after him rather faster than she meant. Indeed
she began to have a queer feeling that her legs were running away with
her, when all of a sudden there came a grand upset. Mary found herself
on the ground, on the top of the perambulator, and even before she had
time to pick herself up her little voice was heard crying out:
"Oh poor Kitty! I'se felled on the top of poor Kitty!"
But no, Kitty was not as much to be pitied as Mary herself, for the poor
little girl's knees were sadly scratched by the gravel and one of her
hands was really bleeding. While, there was Kitty, galloping home in
great glee--Leigh's handkerchief spreading out behind her like a lady's
train.
Mary scarcely knew whether to laugh or _cry_. I think she did a little
of both. Leigh wanted to catch pussy again, but nurse would not hear of
it, and proposed instead that they should use the perambulator to bring
home a beautiful lot of primroses for their mother, from the woods.
After this adventure with the kitten, Leigh tried one or two other
"tricks," as nurse called them. He wanted to make a coachman of one of
his guinea-pigs, who sat quite still as long as he had a leaf of lettuce
to munch, but when that was done let himself roll out like a ball over
and over again, till even Leigh got tired of catching him and putting
him back. Artie's pet rabbit did no better, and then it was decided
that when the dolls were ill it would be best to use the perambulator as
a cart, for fetching flowers and fir-cones and all sorts of things.
This was such fun that the dolls were often obliged to stay at home,
even when their colds were not very bad.
And for nearly a week the children kept away from the smithy. Papa had
been home during that week, of course, and they had tried to ask about
the puppy. But he was very busy and hurried; all he could say was that
he must see the dog first, and that of course he had had no time for.
At last there came a morning on which, when the children went down to
see their father after the nursery breakfast, they found him sitting
comfortably at the table pouring himself out a second cup of nice hot
coffee and reading the newspaper, as if he was not in a hurry at all.
"Oh papa," said Leigh, "how jolly it is to see you like that, instead of
gobbling up your breakfast as if the train was at the door."
"If the train came as near as that I shouldn't be so hurried," said his
father laughing, but Mary did not look quite pleased.
"Papa doesn't gobble," she said. "Leigh shouldn't speak that way, it's
like gooses and turkeys."
"I didn't mean that kind of gobbling," said Leigh. "Turkeys
gobble-wobble--it's their way of talking. I didn't mean _that_ of
papa."
Mary still looked rather doubtful, but her father caught her up and set
her on his knee with a kiss.
"Thank you, my princess," he said, "for standing up for your poor old
father. Now, what can I do for you? I've got a nice long holiday
before me, all to-day and all to-morrow at home, so I'm quite at your
service."
Mary looked up. She did not quite understand what "quite at your
service" meant, and it was her way when she did not understand anything
to think it over for a moment or two before she asked to have it
explained. It is not a bad way to do, because there are often things a
child can get to understand by a little thinking, and some children have
a silly way of never using their own minds if they can help it.
"Why don't you answer, Mary?" said Leigh. "I know what _I'd_ say, if
papa offered to do anything I wanted, and I think you might remember
what we're all wanting so much."
Mary's face cleared.
"I didn't understand," she said. "But I do now. O papa dear, will you
come and see the sweet little doggie at the smiffy? We've been waiting
and waiting."
"Oh dear," said her father, "I'd forgotten all about it. Yes, of course
I'll take a look at it. Let's see: they're retriever pups, aren't
they?" Leigh did not answer for a moment. To tell the truth, he was
not quite sure what kind of dogs Yakeman's were, though he did not like
to say so. "They are brown and curly," he said at last. "And the top
of our one's head is nearly as soft as--as baby," added Mary.
"Baby would be flattered," said her father. "We're going to call it
Fuzzy," Mary went on. "It are so very soft."
"And oh, by the by," said papa, "you've never chosen a name for your
little sister, so mamma and I have had to fix on one. What do you think
of Dorothea?"
The children looked at their father doubtfully.
"Dorothea," said Leigh.
"Doro--" began Artie, stopping in the middle, as he forgot the rest.
"Dodo--" said Mary, stopping too. "It's a difficult name, papa."
"And I don't think it's very pretty," said Leigh.
"Wait a minute," said papa. "You'll like it when I explain about it.
You know that baby came on Mary's birthday?"
"Yes," said Mary. "She were my best birfday present."
"That's just it," her father went on. "`Dorothea' means a present--a
present from God, which must mean the best kind of present."
"Oh," said Mary, "that's very nice! Please say it again, papa, and I'll
try to learn it. Dodo--"
"No," said Artie, looking very superior. "Doro--not Dodo."
"You needn't look down upon Mary," said Leigh, "if you can't get any
further than that. It's Dorothea. I can say it well enough of course,
but I do think it's a very long name, papa, for such a very little
baby."
"She'll grow up to be a big girl some day, I hope," said their father.
"But you're all in such a hurry you won't let me finish explaining.
Besides having a nice meaning, we like Dorothea because there's such a
pretty way of shortening it. We're going to call your little sister
`Dolly.'"
"That's not difficult," said Mary. "Only it seems as if she was a
dolly."
"No it doesn't," said Leigh. "Your dolls have all got their own names.
I like Dolly very much, papa, and I think we'll better call her it now.
`Baby' is so common, there's such lots of babies."
"There's a baby at the baker's shop," said Artie, who did not like being
left out of the conversation. "It's a lot bigger than our baby, it goes
in a sitting-up perambulator all alone."
"Dear me," said his father. "How very curious! I should like to see
it! We shall be having babies riding tricycles next."
Artie stared, he did not understand, but Leigh began to laugh.
"How funny you are, papa," he said. "Of course, Artie doesn't mean that
it pushes itself along, though _I_ think that pushing a perambulator is
very stupid. If I had a baby I know what I'd do."
"On the whole, I'd rather not be your baby, I think, Leigh. But if
we're going to the smithy this morning, we'd better set off. Run and
get ready, boys."
Leigh and Artie scampered off, and their father was following them, when
a sudden sound made him stop short. It was a wail from Mary.
"What is the matter, my darling?" he said, turning back to her.
"I does so want to come too," said Mary through her tears. "'Cos the
little dog were for me."
"You shall come, dear," said her father; "but why didn't you ask me
without beginning to cry? That's not being a sensible girl."
Mary's face was very like an April day. She smiled up at her father in
a minute.
"I won't cry," she said, "I'll be very good. Will you wait for me if
nurse dresses me very quick, papa?" and she set off after her brothers,
mounting upstairs as fast as she could, though "could" was not very
fast, as right leg was obliged to wait on each step till left leg made
up to it.