But Fuzz was deaf to her remonstrances, and again gave vent to his feelings in the same bark, but this time, to add to his powers of persuasion, he sat up on his haunches, dropping his little forepaws in a supplicating fashion, while the stumpy tail still wagged furiously. It was not to be withstood. As usually happened in that house, Fuzz conquered; and Bess rose, took the ball, and threw it into the darkest corner, hoping to gain a moment’s rest while the dog hunted up his treasure. Fuzz scrambled after it, his sharp little claws catching in the carpet as he ran, and in another moment he had deposited it at the feet of Bess, and run back as before. Experience had taught his mistress that when Fuzz wished to play, she must obey his will, and keep him running after the ball until, tired out, he should be ready to go back to his cushioned basket.
In the intervals of her attentions to Fuzz, she told her mother Rob’s account of Fred, and then went on to speak of the people she had seen, of the sermon, and of other bits of news likely to interest her home-abiding mother. A few moments’ rest from Fuzz were succeeded
