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.

Chapter Six.
“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 – ”

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 him in the stables whenever you like; I’ll tell Mellor. And he will go out walks with you – the puppy, I mean, not Mellor – as soon as ever he has learnt to follow.” This made Mary laugh again. The idea of Mellor going out a walk with them all, following behind like a well-behaved dog. For Mellor was not very young, and he had a broad red face and was rather fat.

Papa was pleased to hear Mary laughing, even though it was rather a shaky 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 that any 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 baby was to be called.

“Yes, as Dolly,” her father went on. “They would be two babies together, and they might hurt each other without meaning it. Dolly might pull Fuddle’s hair – ”

At this all three children burst out laughing, quite a hearty laugh this time.

“Oh, papa dear,” said Mary, “what a very bad mem’ry you’ve got! It isn’t Fuddle! Can’t you say Fuzzy?”

“Fuzzy, Fuzzy, Fuzzy,” said papa, speaking like the three bears turned the wrong way. “There, now, I think I’ve got it into my stupid old head at last. Well, as I was saying, Miss Dolly might pull Master Fuzzy’s hair, without meaning to hurt him of course, and he might turn round and snap at her, not exactly meaning to hurt her either, but still – it might be rather bad, you see.” Mary’s face grew very grave.

“I never thought of that,” she said solemnly. “It would be dedful for dear little baby Dolly to be hurted, though I’m kite sure Fuzzy wouldn’t mean it.”

“But when Dolly’s a good bit bigger, and when Fuzzy is quite a trained dog, 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 the hall. They get up and come and sniff you when you go in. When I was a little 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 big dog, we’ll see. Some dogs are very good indeed with little children; I hope he’ll be. I remember seeing a great Newfoundland that let his master’s children ride on his back, just as if he was a little pony. He stalked along as steadily as possible.”

“And in some countries,” said Leigh eagerly, “dogs are taught to draw little carriages, aren’t they? I’ve seen pictures of them, up where there’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 put down Mary by this time, and they were walking on slowly up the hill towards the Lavender Cottages. “Yes, and in other countries not so far off 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 than either of the others.

By this time they were close to the top of the little hill where stood the cottages of which we have spoken so often – the Lavender Cottages as they were called; because once, a good many years ago, an old man lived there, whose lavender was famed all about that part of the country. He had a garden, almost like a little field, quite full of it. This garden belonged to one of the end cottages, and it was now a regular cottage kitchen-garden, with potatoes and cabbages and other vegetables growing in it, though in one corner there was still a nice little stock of the old lavender bushes. Here lived an old woman and her son, named Sweeting. Mrs Sweeting had once been cook at the hall when the children’s father was a little boy, and she was always pleased to have a visit from any of them.

“I hear poor old Mrs Sweeting has been ill,” said papa; “I’ll just go in for a minute or two to see her. You children can wait outside for me.”

The boys and Mary were not sorry to do so. They were always fond of coming to the Lavender Cottages, not only to see Mrs Sweeting who was very kind to them, but because they were much interested in the family of children who lived next door. There were such a lot of them! The cottage would never have held them all; but luckily, in the third cottage, at the other end again, lived the grandfather and grandmother of the large family, and some of the bigger boys had a room in their house. Still there were plenty left in the middle cottage, as you will hear.