not very nice for me either, but I don’t howl and try to upset mangles. Don’t you be afraid, dear: you shan’t go to the Dogs’ Home.”
So kindly, yet strongly, did she urge her point that Alcibiades, tied to the leg of the kitchen table, consented to sleep quietly for the rest of the night.
Next day, when the Aunt enquired searchingly as to Judy’s powers of fancywork, and what she would do for the bazaar, Judy declared outright that she did not know one end of a needle from the other.
“But I can paint a little,” she said, “and I am rather good at wood-carving.”
“That will be very nice.” The Aunt already saw, in fancy, her stall outshine those of all other Tabbies, with glories of sabots and tambourines decorated with rosy sprays “hand-painted,” and carved white wood boxes just the size to hold nothing useful.
“And I’ll do you some,” said Judy; “only I can’t work if I’m distracted about Alby—my dog, you know. Oh, Aunt, do let him stay! He really is valuable, and he hasn’t made a bit of noise since last night.”
