They continued, even in Joy's mind, till
almost the last minute, when she stood on the platform of the resort
station with Phyllis, Allan, John, the children, Viola, and the
bulldog, awaiting their train.
Philip was having to be cheered and distracted: his tender heart was
nearly broken over the fact that his beloved Foxy had to travel in
the baggage-car, when he would have been so much happier in the
bosom of his family. Philip could not be restrained from pleading
the dog's cause at length with a fatherly baggageman whose heart he
had quite won in four minutes.
"He has a green-plush chair at home that he _always_ sits in,
and nobody takes it away from him, not even company," he explained
earnestly. "He isn't used to baggage-cars--truly he isn't. He's a
wonderful-mannered dog. And father says that if he lived up to his
pedigree he wouldn't 'sociate wiv _any_ of us. You can _see_
he doesn't belong in a baggage-car!"
The baggageman, melted by Philip's ardent pleadings, was yielding to
the extent of letting Foxy's family sit with him in relays and cheer
him as much as they liked, when Grandmother dropped her bombshell.
At least, that was what John called it when they talked it over
afterwards. Joy always spoke of it as "the time Grandmother said the
awful thing."
"Good-by, my little girl," she said. "I know Grace Carpenter's boy
can't but be good to you. And, darling--she asked me to keep it for
a surprise--I only heard this morning--but I know surprises aren't
always pleasant--and you're so young, you need to be prepared.
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