M. on Sunday morning,
up and about at ten!"
"I didn't say what time it was," I said sharply.
But at that moment Lida called from the front hall.
"I think I hear Peter," she said. "He is shut in somewhere, whining."
We went forward at once. She was right. Peter was scratching at the
door of Mr. Ladley's room, although I had left the door closed and
Peter in the hall. I let him out, and he crawled to me on three legs,
whimpering. Mr. Howell bent over him and felt the fourth.
"Poor little beast!" he said. "His leg is broken!"
He made a splint for the dog, and with Lida helping, they put him to
bed in a clothes-basket in my up-stairs kitchen. It was easy to see
how things lay with Mr. Howell. He was all eyes for her: he made
excuses to touch her hand or her arm--little caressing touches
that made her color heighten. And with it all, there was a sort of
hopelessness in his manner, as if he knew how far the girl was out of
his reach. Knowing Alma and her pride, I knew better than they how
hopeless it was.
I was not so sure about Lida.
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