times," I ordered, squatting to peer into the sagacious brown eyes.
Three times the stocky tail thumped the floor.
Then Angel put the question, and was answered with equal promptitude.
It was The Seraph's turn. With an insinuating smile he said: "If you are a gennelman dog wag your tail fwee times."
But before there was time for so much as one wag, Mary Ellen caught the too-eager tail in a restraining grasp.
"Now have done wid your nonsinse," she commanded. "Ye'll have the pore crature that worried it'll set up barkin', an' if the misthress did know, there be's a dawg in the house, she'd likely just throw a fit an' die."
"Is it a vewy barkable dog?" queried The Seraph.
"All dogs is barkable," said Mary Ellen, "and what we'll have to do is to kape her as quate as possible and pray that her owner'll come along this way, for turn her out I will not. It's easy seein' she's a pet be the ways of her."
"It says 'Giftie' on her collar," Angel announced, separating the short, shaggy coat to read. "That must be her name. Hello, Giftie! Sit up, Giftie!"
So Giftie she was, and, for a long three weeks, our joy and our delight.
[109]
