Didn't she, Mike?"
Mike, who had been dreaming all afternoon on the porch, had gotten up
reluctantly as they passed and followed them. He had a slow, lopsided
gait, and his tongue dangled from the side of his mouth. It was
evidently a sacrifice for him to accompany them, but duty was duty.
"You angel dog! Come here to your Missus!" commanded Miss Lady, as she
and Donald dropped down in the old barrel-stave hammock, that had
swung beneath the lilacs since the Colonel was a boy.
But Mike ambled past her, and after snuggling up to Don with a great
show of intimacy lay down at his feet.
"I'm glad somebody loves me," Donald said.
"It's your riding boots, Mike likes. He never had a chance to taste
tan shoe polish before!"
"What do you like me for?"
"Me? Who said I did?"
"Don't you?"
"Oh, yes, I like tan boots, too. Why didn't you tell me my hair had
tumbled down again?"
"Because you are so beautiful, with it like that, Miss Lady--"
"Now, Don, if you begin again I shall go straight in the house. What
did you mean by saying you had gotten what was worst for you, and you
had made the worst of it?"
"Oh, the way I've been brought up.
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