'Oh dear!' sighed Gillian, and there was a general groan round the
table.
'It can't be helped, my dear.'
'Oh no, I know it can't,' said Gillian, resignedly.
'You see,' said Mysie. 'Yes, come along, Basto dear. You see Gill has
to be--down, Basto, I say!--a young lady when-- Never mind him,
Dolores, he won't hurt. When Miss Constance Hacket and--leave her
alone, Basto, I say!--and she is such a goose. Not you, Dolores, but
Miss Constance.'
'Oh that dog! I wish you would not take him.'
'Not take dear old Basto! Why 'tis such a treat for him to get a walk
in the morning--the delight of his jolly old black heart. Isn't he a
dear old fellow? and he never hurt anybody in his life! It's only
setting off! He will quiet down in a minute; but I couldn't
disappoint him. Could I, my old man?'
Never having lived with animals nor entered into their feelings,
Dolores could not understand how a dog's pleasure could be preferred to
her comfort, and felt a good deal hurt, though Basto's antics subsided
as soon as they were past the inner gate shutting in the garden from
the paddock, which was let out to a farmer. Mysie, however, ran on as
usual with her stream of information--
'The Miss Hacket were sister or daughters or something to some old man
who used to be clergyman here, and they are all married up but these
two, and they've got the dearest little house you ever saw. They had a
nephew in the 111th, and so they came and called on us at once.
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