it, and I
could not say how far we went. But it must have been miles and miles,
for it seemed a long time afterwards that we stopped at the biggest
house I have ever seen. There were smooth lawns and flower-beds, and
men in overalls, and fountains and trees, and, away to the right,
kennels with about a million dogs in them, all pushing their noses
through the bars and shouting. They all wanted to know who I was and
what prizes I had won, and then I realized that I was moving in high
society.

I let the small boy pick me up and carry me into the house, though it
was all he could do, poor kid, for I was some weight. He staggered up
the steps and along a great hall, and then let me flop on the carpet of
the most beautiful room you ever saw. The carpet was a yard thick.

There was a woman sitting in a chair, and as soon as she saw me she
gave a shriek.

'I told Master Peter you would not be pleased, m'lady,' said the nurse,
who seemed to have taken a positive dislike to me, 'but he would bring
the nasty brute home.'

'He's not a nasty brute, mother. He's my dog, and his name's Fido. John
ran over him in the car, and I brought him home to live with us. I love
him.'

This seemed to make an impression. Peter's mother looked as if she were
weakening.

'But, Peter, dear, I don't know what your father will say. He's so
particular about dogs. All his dogs are prize-winners, pedigree dogs.
This is such a mongrel.'

'A nasty, rough, ugly, common dog, m'lady,' said the nurse, sticking
her oar in in an absolutely uncalled-for way.

Just then a man came into the room.

'What on earth?' he said, catching sight of me.

'It's a dog Peter has brought home. He says he wants to keep him.'

'I'm going to keep him,' corrected Peter firmly.

I do like a child that knows his own mind. I was getting fonder of
Peter every minute. I reached up and licked his hand.

'See! He knows he's my dog, don't you, Fido? He licked me.'

'But, Peter, he looks so fierce.' This, unfortunately, is true. I do
look fierce. It is rather a misfortune for a perfectly peaceful dog.
'I'm sure it's not safe your having him.'

'He's my dog, and his name's Fido. I am going to tell cook to give him
a bone.'

His mother looked at his father, who gave rather a nasty laugh.

'My dear Helen,' he said, 'ever since Peter was born, ten years ago, he
has not asked for a single thing, to the best of my recollection, which
he has not got. Let us be consistent. I