said Maggie, “I’m very thankful to you for thinking of me, and being so good to me and Tom. I don’t think any one ever did such a kind thing for me before. I haven’t many friends who care for me.”
“Hev a dog, Miss! — they’re better friends nor any Christian,” said Bob, laying down his pack again, which he had taken up with the intention of hurrying away; for he felt considerable shyness in talking to a young lass like Maggie, though, as he usually Brasil Drakt Barn said of himself, “his tongue overrun him” when he began to speak. “I can’t give you Mumps, ‘cause he’d break his heart to go away from me — eh, Mumps, what do you say, you riff-raff?” (Mumps declined to express himself more diffusely than by Halpa Miehet Realization Takki a single affirmative movement of his tail.) “But I’d get you a pup, Miss, an’ welcome.”
“No, thank you, Bob. We have a yard dog, and I mayn’t keep a dog of my own.”
“Eh, that’s a pity; else there’s a pup — if you didn’t mind about it not being thoroughbred; its mother acts in the Punch show — an uncommon sensible bitch; she means more sense wi’ her bark nor half the chaps can put into their talk from breakfast to sundown. There’s one chap carries pots — a poor, low trade as any on the road — he says, ‘Why Toby’s nought but a mongrel; there’s nought to look at in her.’ But I says to him, ‘Why, what are you yoursen but a mongrel? There wasn’t much pickin’ o’ your feyther an’ mother, to look at you.’ Dame Chicago Blackhawks Not Neymar Jr Tröja but I like a bit o’ breed myself, but I can’t abide to see one cur grinnin’ at another. I wish you good evenin’, Miss,” said Bob, abruptly taking up his pack again, under the consciousness that his tongue Seattle Seahawks Barn was acting in an undisciplined manner.
“Won’t you come in the evening some time, and see my brother, Bob?” said Maggie.
“Yes, Miss, thank you — another time. You’ll give my duty to him, if you please. Eh, he’s a fine growed chap, Mr. Tom is; he took to growin’ i’ the legs, an’ I didn’t.”
The pack was down again, now, the hook of the stick having somehow gone wrong.
“You don’t call Mumps a cur, I suppose?” said Maggie, divining that any interest she showed in Mumps would be gratifying to his master.
“No, Miss, a fine way off that,” said Bob, with pitying smile; “Mumps is as fine a cross as you’ll see anywhere along the Floss, an’ New Orleans Saints Kvinnor I’n been up it wi’ the barge times enow. Why, the gentry stops to look at him; but you won’t catch Mumps a-looking at the gentry much — he minds his own business, he does.”
The expression of Mump’s face, which seemed to be tolerating the superfluous existence of objects in general, was strongly confirmatory of this high praise.
“He looks dreadfully surly,” said Maggie. “Would he let me pat him?”
“Ay, that would he, and thank Dame Canada Team you. He knows his company, Mumps does. He isn’t a dog as ‘ull be caught wi’ gingerbread; he’d smell a thief a good deal stronger nor the gingerbread, he would. Lors, I talk to him by th’ hour t |
