thick slice of bread, and then passed his hand approvingly down over her gown.
“How fine you are!” he said. “It is a shame for Fuzz to act so.”
“He always does when I want to go away, so I usually shut him into the house. To-day he saw me putting on my hat and suspected a departure, and in some way ran out past Bridget. I am sorry, for I ought to call on Mrs. Walsh.”
As she opened the door and stepped out into the May sunshine, Fred stood leaning in the doorway, waiting to know if his plan were successful. Fuzz sat on the grass ten feet away, watching their manœuvres with a look of calm, unbiassed criticism.
“Come, Fuzz, come get some bread,” said Bess caressingly, as she broke off a bit and tossed it to the dog. He moved lazily towards it, ate it as if he were conferring a favor upon her, then came a step or two nearer to get the next one, and the next, artfully aimed by Bess, in order to bring him by degrees to her feet. But Fuzz was wary, and had no mind to forego either the present feast or the prospective walk. By
