“Did Rob come up with you, as usual?” asked Mrs. Carter, when quiet was once more restored.
“Oh, yes; I can always depend on him. What a dear boy he is! Oh, Fuzz! have you found your ball?”
For Fuzz had returned on the scene, and brought with him the object of his search, a small, soft ball that he could easily hold in his mouth, or, when he preferred, carry it hooked on one of his teeth and hanging out at the side of his mouth. Now, rolling it up towards Bess, but just out of her reach, he ran back a few steps, flattened himself on the carpet, wagged his morsel of a tail convulsively, and rolled his eyes, first at the ball then at Bess. But Bess was in no mood to play, however much Fuzz might desire it. She was just beginning to tell her mother about Fred, when the dog, seeing that the suggestive wag of his tail had no influence, uttered a loud, sharp bark.
“No, no, Fuzz!” said Bess, frowning on the excited little creature. “I’m too tired, and I don’t feel like playing.”
