Angela scrambled up
with intense earnestness and loud little pantings, and, finally
seated on a pillow in triumph, smiled broadly and charmingly, her
golden head cocked to one side.
"Doggies went garden, 'is morning," she informed Joy, still smiling
enchantingly. "Oo--a _big_ hole!"
"She means they dug a hole," Philip translated. "You can't always
tell when she's making up things that aren't so; but this is. It's
there now, with worms in it, and a rosebush that fell in. But I
washed all their paws in the bathtub," he added hastily, "and
Angela's frock-front. Didn't I, Angel?"
"Fock-front!" said Angela, beaming and spatting herself happily in
the region named.
Joy cast a wild look around her. Foxy lay across her at her waist
line--yes, there were paw-marks all over the counterpane, and Ivan,
who seemed to have had more than his share of the cleansing, showed
a distinct arc of wetness where his long body had lain at the foot
of the bed.
Philip, following her eyes, slid unobtrusively from her side.
"I--I just thought you'd like to see the dogs, and the baby," he
explained. "Most people do. Mother sent me to tell you it was nine
o'clock, and would you like to get up?"
He made no further references to paws or washings. He merely
whistled again to Angela and the dogs, who were reluctant, but
struggled obediently down from the counterpane, leaving, alas,
distinct traces in all directions.
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