226
SYLVIE AND BRUNO.
Words fail me to describe the beauty of the little group——couched on a patch of moss, on the trunk of the fallen tree, that met my eager gaze: Sylvie reclining with her elbow buried in the moss, and her rosy cheek resting in the palm of her hand, and Bruno stretched at her feet with his head in her lap.
"Too waggly?" was all I could say in so sudden an emergency.
"I'm not praticular," Bruno said, carelessly: "but I do like straight animals best——"
"But you like a dog when it wags its tail," Sylvie interrupted. "You know you do, Bruno!"
