"FUZZY."
Yakeman at the smithy looked very pleased to see his visitors,
especially as their father was with the children.
"The puppies are getting on finely," he said. "Two of them are going to
their new masters to-morrow. But I've held on to the one as Miss Mary
fancied, thinking you'd be looking in some day soon."
"We've wanted to come ever so often," said Leigh.
"We was waiting for papa," added Mary. "And we didn't come round this
way 'cos it made us want the dear little dog so much."
Yakeman listened gravely.
"I thought I hadn't seen you passing the last few days," he said. "But
I wouldn't have let the dog go, not without sending up to ask you."
"Oh, we knowed you'd keep him," said Mary, and then Yakeman led the way
round to the side of the house again, where the four puppies were
rolling and tumbling about in perfect content, their mother watching
their gambols with great pride.
Suddenly a new thought struck Mary.
"Won't her be very unhappy when them all goes away?" she asked Yakeman
anxiously. "And won't them cry for their mamma?"
The smith smiled.
"They're getting old enough to do without her now," he said. "But
she'll miss them, no doubt, will poor old Beauty," and he patted the
retriever's head as he spoke. "It's the way of the world, bain't it,
sir?" turning to the children's father. "Dogs and humans. The young
ones leave the old ones cheery enough. It's the old ones as it's hard
on!"
Mary did not quite understand what he meant, but something made her
catch hold of her father's hand.
"You won't never let me go away, will you, papa?" she whispered. "Not
_never_, will you?"
"Not unless you want to go, certainly," said her father, smiling down at
her. "But now show me which is the puppy you'd like to have."
Mary looked rather puzzled, and so, though they would not have owned it,
were the boys.
"I think," began Leigh, not at all sure of what he was going to say, but
just then, luckily, Yakeman came to their help by picking up one of the
puppies.
"This here is Miss Mary's one. We've called it hers--the missis and I,
ever since the last time you was here."
He gave a little laugh, though he did not say what he was laughing at.
To tell the truth, Mrs Yakeman and he had called the puppy "Miss Mary!"
Mary rubbed her nose, as she had done before, on the puppy's soft curly
head.
"It are so sweet," she said. "We're going to call him `Fuzzy.' But, oh
papa!" and her voice began to tremble. "Oh Leigh and Artie, I don't
think we should have him if it would make his poor mother unhappy to be
leaved all alone."
"It won't be so bad as that, Miss Mary," said the smith, who, though he
was such a big man, had a very tender heart, and could not bear to see
the little girl's face clouded. "We're going to keep Number 4 for
ourselves, and after a day or two Beauty will be quite content with him.
You can look in and see for yourselves when you're passing."
"Of course," said Leigh, in his wise tone. "It'll be all right, Mary.
And we can bring Fuzzy to see his mother sometimes, to pay her a visit,
you know."
Mary's face cleared. Yakeman and Leigh must know best, and papa would
not let them have the dog if it was unkind. It was not what _she'd_
like--to live in a house across the fields from mamma, only to pay her a
morning call now and then. But still, dogs were different, she
supposed.
All this time papa had been looking at Fuzzy, as I think we may now
begin to call him.
"He's a nice puppy," he said, "a very nice little fellow. Of course,
he'll want to be properly taken care of, and careful training. But I
can trust Mellor--you know Mellor, of course, the coachman?" he went on
to the smith. "He's not bad with dogs."
"No, sir, I should say he's very good with 'em," Yakeman replied.
"Feedin's a deal to do with it--there's a many young dogs spoilt with
over feedin'."
"I'll see to that," said Mr Bertram. "Now, children, we must be moving
on, I think."
But the three stood there looking rather strange.
"I thought--" began Leigh.
"Won't we--" began Artie.
"Oh, papa," began Mary.
"What in the world is the matter?" said their father in surprise.
"Aren't you pleased about the puppy? I'll send Mellor to fetch him
to-morrow."
"It's just that," said Leigh.
"Yes," said Artie.
"We thought he'd be ours, our very own," said Mary, at last explaining
what they were in trouble about. For though the three had said nothing
to each other, each knew that the others were thinking and feeling the
same.
"We meant to fetch him ourselves," said Leigh again.
"We was going to give him his breakfast and dinner and tea in the
nursery," chimed in Artie.
"I was p'annin'," added Mary, "that he'd sleep in our beds in turns. I
didn't tell Leigh and Artie. I were going to 'apprise them. But I
meaned 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 the
cots 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 top
of you and making hay of the bedclothes--just look at him now tumbling
about in the straw with his brothers--you would not be likely to have a
very good night."
"And if he had three meals a day in the nursery, there'd not be much
left 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 little
dogs 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, Master
Artie. Puppies isn't little young gentlemen and ladies, and every
creature has its own ways. He'll be all right in the stable, never you
fear, 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 were
going to the gate, flicking his boots with a little whip he had in his
hand, to seem as if he did not care, though in reality he was very
nearly 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, Mr
Yakeman, and zank you, papa; but him wouldn't be _nours_--him'd be
Mellor's," and then there came a little choke in Mary's voice and a
misty look in her eyes, and in a moment Artie's pocket-handkerchief was
out 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 papa
won't--"
I am not quite sure what he was going to say. I am not sure that he
knew himself. But whatever it was, he was interrupted. For before
Mary's tears had had time to begin their journey down her face, papa had
picked her up in his arms and was busy comforting her. He could not
bear to see her cry! Really, it was rather a wonder that she was not
spoilt.
"My pet," he said, "there is truly nothing to cry about. The puppy--
what is it you call him, Fudge or Fuss--"