‘I much approve your choice, dear; a good bull is the dog for you. But I think it would be better to try and bring up a pup of good stock than to buy a full-grown animal; the bulls are very faithful and affectionate, and if you brought one up, you could form his character.’
‘I think the best way to form his character will be to provide that he shall hear sermons by the vicar of Dulham, replied his niece. ‘I have a saving faith that if he ever afterwards were to meet a gospel missionary, he’d take him by the—’
‘By the manner of his conversation to be an angel Lesbie, to be an angel. Well, if I’m not mistaken, there are some people, connections of Robins, of the name of Guineabush, who have taken a house on the other side of Frogmore—I met them the last time we were at Ruddymere—who have some pups of the same breed. I have a great mind to write and ask if they will sell us one.’
No sooner said than done; the next day, the vicar received a friendly reply from Blackthorne Lodge, the residence of Mr Arthur Guineabush and his wife, saying that they would gladly show our friends the pups if they would look in and stay luncheon on the following Friday. The invitation was gladly accepted, and about one p.m., Lesbia and her uncle arrived in the pony-carriage. Mrs Guineabush, guessing Lesbia’s impatience to see the pups, proposed that they should follow the pony-carriage to the stable.
‘Here are the pups,’ said the host. ‘They are the truly-begotten children of Whiting himself, the idol of your admiration.’
‘Oh, what sweet little monsters!’ exclaimed Lesbia, with rapture. ‘And one’s all white, like its father! May I take it up?’
As the young girl stroked and kissed the square block of
