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“He’s bigger than yours,” said Jo. “Bronko’s as big as Playboy.”

“Ponko’s as big as an elephant.”

The black dogs grew in size. Bother the little wretches and their black dogs!

“May we come in?” Holmes with another man stood in the doorway.

Instantly black dogs of titanic statue were forgotten in shrieks of:

“Daddy, come and sit on my bed!”

“No, you sat on Jo’s last night.”

“I’m not going to sit on anybody’s bed,” said their father grimly. “I’m going to spank you both good and hard, if you don’t behave yourselves. You’ve kept Miss Merrill here for nearly two hours. A pair of obnoxious children, that’s what you are.”

“Noxious weeds like briars and blackberries,” observed Biddy.

“Yes, pests to the sheep-farmer—to one sheep-farmer anyhow.”

“Not you, Daddy. Now don’t tell stories. You love us.”

“When you’re good I can put up with you.”

“Oh, Biddy’s a noxshus weed!” exclaimed Jo triumphantly. “Biddy-biddys are awful things. Miss Merrill got them all stuck over her skirt, didn’t you, Miss Merrill?—and if it gets in the sheep’s wool it’s puffectly terrible———”

“Jo, be quiet! Daddy’s going to tell us a story.”

“Who says he is?” asked Holmes.

“I say so,” said Biddy.

“So do I,” said Jo.

Waring had moved forward from the doorway.

“Come and dance, Miss Merrill.”