Yes, take him
with you, poor little dog; and--and--keep him as long as you
like--unless--unless there _do_ come good news."
And thus it came to pass that Toby set out on his travels with Barbara
Twiss, while poor Grandmamma shrank down again into her arm-chair by the
fire, and Grandpapa tried to imagine he was reading his newspaper as
usual.
What did poor Toby think of it all? His ideas had been very confused
for some days, poor little dog. He could not make out what had become of
the children. He sniffed about everywhere, once or twice barking with
sudden delight when, coming upon some relic of his little master or
mistress, such as Duke's old garden hat or Pamela's tiny parasol, he
imagined for a moment or two that he had found them, only to creep off
again with his tail between his legs in renewed disappointment when he
discovered his mistake, all of which, it is easy to understand, had been
very trying to poor Grandmamma, and no doubt to Toby himself. He did not
understand what he was scolded for when he certainly meant no harm; he
could not make out why Dymock gave him little shoves out of the way and
Biddy bade him sharply be quiet when he, naturally enough, yelped at
this inconsiderate treatment. And worst of all, when, after the most
mature reflection, he took up his quarters on one of the two little
white beds in the night nursery, deciding that there, sooner or later,
his friends _must_ return, was it not _too_ bad that Nurse, hobbling
about again after her rheumatic attack, which she had made much worse by
fretting,--was it not _too_ bad that she should unceremoniously dislodge
him with never a "by your leave," or "with your leave"?
Toby shook himself and walked off in disgust.
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