"Glad of it. I felt so myself, and thought we'd have a jolly little party all in the family," said Tom, looking much gratified at her delight.
"Is Trix sick?" asked Polly.
"Gone to New York for a week."
"Ah, when the cat's away the mice will play."
"Exactly; come and have another turn."
Before they could start, however, the awful spectacle of a little dog trotting out of the room with a paper parcel in his mouth, made Polly clasp her hands with the despairing cry,—
"My bonnet! oh, my bonnet!"
"Where? what? which?" and Tom looked about him bewildered.
"Snip's got it. Save it! save it!"
"I will!" and Tom gave chase with more vigor than discretion.
Snip, evidently regarding it as a game got up for his especial benefit, enjoyed the race immensely, and scampered all over the house, shaking the precious parcel like a rat, while his master ran and whistled, commanded and coaxed in vain. Polly followed, consumed with anxiety, and Maud laughed till Mrs. Shaw sent down to know who was in hysterics. A piteous yelp from the lower regions at last announced that the thief was captured, and Tom appeared, bearing Snip by the nape of the neck in one hand, and Polly's cherished bonnet in the other.
"The little scamp was just going to worry it when I grabbed him. I'm afraid he has eaten one of your gloves; I can't find it, and this one is pretty well chewed up," said Tom, bereaving Snip of the torn kid, to which he still pertinaciously clung
