FullReads

A TALE FOR CHILDREN

‘Daisy, dearest,’ said Miss Millikin anxiously to her niece one afternoon, ‘do you think poor Don is quite the thing? He has seemed so very languid these last few days, and he is certainly losing his figure!’

Daisy was absorbed in a rather ambitious attempt to sketch the lake from the open windows of Applethwaite Cottage, and did not look up from her drawing immediately. When she did speak her reply might perhaps have been more sympathetic. ‘He eats such a lot, auntie!’ she said. ‘Yes, Don, we are talking about you. You know you eat too much, and that’s the reason you’re so disgracefully fat!’

Don, who was lying on a rug under the verandah, wagged his tail with an uneasy protest, as if he disapproved (as indeed he did) of the very personal turn Daisy had given to the conversation. He had noticed himself that he was not as active as he used to be; he grew tired so very soon now when he chased birds (he was always possessed by a fixed idea that, if he only gave his whole mind to it, he could catch any swallow that flew at all fairly); he felt the heat considerably.

Still, it was Don’s opinion that, so long as he did not mind being fat himself, it was no business of any other person’s–certainly not of Daisy’s.

‘But, Daisy,’ cried Miss Millikin plaintively, ‘you don’t really mean that I overfeed him?’

‘Well,’ Daisy admitted, ‘I think you give way to him rather, Aunt Sophy, I really do. I know that at home we never let Fop have anything between his meals. Jack says that unless a small dog is kept on very simple diet he’ll soon get fat, and getting fat,’ added Daisy portentously, ‘means having fits sooner or later.’

‘Oh, my dear!’ exclaimed her aunt, now seriously alarmed. ‘What do you think I ought to do about it?’

‘I know what I would do if he was my dog,’ said Daisy, with great decision–‘diet him, and take no notice when he begs at table; I would. I’d begin this very afternoon.’

‘After tea, Daisy?’ stipulated Miss Millikin.

‘No,’ was the inflexible answer, ‘at tea. It’s all for his own good.’

‘Yes, dear, I’m sure you’re right–but he has such pretty ways–I’m so afraid I shall forget.’

‘I’ll remind you, Aunt Sophy. He shan’t take advantage of you while I’m here.’

‘You’re just a tiny bit hard on him, Daisy, aren’t you?’

‘Hard on Don!’ cried Daisy, catching him up and holding him out at arm’s length. ‘Don, I’m not hard on you, am I? I love you, only I see your faults, and you know it. You’re full of deceitfulness’ (here she kissed him between the eyes and set him down). ‘Aunt Sophy, you would never have found out his trick about the milk if it hadn’t been for me–would you now?’

‘Perhaps not, my love,’ agreed Miss Millikin mildly.

The trick in question was a certain ingenious device of Don’s for obtaining a double allowance of afternoon tea–a refreshment for which he had acquired a strong taste. The tea had once been too hot and burnt his tongue, and, as he howled with the pain, milk had been added. Ever since that occasion he had been in the habit of lapping up all but a spoonful or two of the tea in his saucer, and then uttering a pathetic little yelp; whereupon innocent Miss Millikin would as regularly fill up the saucer with milk again.

But, unfortunately for Don, his mistress had invited her niece Daisy to spend part of her summer holidays at her pretty cottage in the Lake District, and Daisy’s sharper eyes had detected this little stratagem about the milk on the very first evening!

Daisy was fourteen, and I fancy I have noticed that when a girl is about this age, she not unfrequently has a tendency to be rather a severe disciplinarian when others than herself are concerned. At all events Daisy had very decided notions on the proper method of bringing up dogs, and children too; only there did not happen to be any children at Applethwaite Cottage to try experiments upon; and she was quite sure that Aunt Sophy allowed herself to be shamefully imposed upon by Don.