And, besides, there's Basto,
the big Pyrenean dog, and,--oh, here comes little Quiz, mamma's little
Maltese--Quiz, Quiz.'
Dolores started, she did not like either dogs or cats; and the little
spun-glass looking dog smelt about her.
'I must go and feed my guinea-pig,' said Mysie; 'won't you come? Here
are some over shoes and Poncho.'
Dolores was afraid Poncho was another beast, but it turned out to be a
sort of cape, and she discovered that all the cloaks and most of the
sticks had names of their own. She was afraid to be left standing on
the steps alone lest any amount of animals or boys should fall on her
there, so she consented to accompany Mysie, who shuffled along in a
pair of overshoes vastly too big for her, since she had put her cousin
into the well-fitting ones. She chattered all the way.
'We do like this place so. It is the nicest we have ever been in. All
that is wanting is that papa will buy it, and then we shall never go
away again.'
It was a pleasant place, though not grand; a homely-looking, roomy,
red-brick house, covered with creepers--the Virginian one with its
leaves just beginning to be painted. There was a bright sunny garden
full of flowers in front, and then a paddock, with cows belonging to a
farmer, Mysie said. It was her ambition to have them of their own
'when papa came home,' when all good things were to happen. Behind
there were large stable-yards and offices, too large for Lady
Merrifield's one horse and one pony, and thus available for the
children's menagerie of rabbits, guinea-pigs, magpie, and the like.
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