she was going in search of,--the person that Dora Robson had called
"that stuffy old woman;" and trotting after her was the little yellow
dog, who had just been washed and brushed until his short hair shone
like satin.

"Oh, Pete, Pete, come here!" and Pete at this invitation flew to his
young mistress's arms with much demonstration of delight.

"And they called you a vulgar plebeian dog, Pete, just think of that!"
cried the girl, as she fondled the little animal.

"Who called him that, Peggy?" asked her companion, in a surprised tone.

"One of those girls at the table by the window. Oh, auntie, I want to
tell you about it. I was coming to find you on purpose to tell you.
Let's go in here, where we shall be all by ourselves," turning towards a
small unoccupied reception-room.

There, cosily ensconced beside her aunt, with the little yellow dog at
her feet, the dog's mistress told her story, with various exclamations
and interjections of, "Now wasn't it horrid of them?" and "Did you ever
know anything so ridiculous?" while auntie listened with great
interest, her only comment at the end being,--

"Well, they're not worth minding, Peggy, and I wouldn't act as if I'd
heard what they said when you meet them. I wouldn't take any notice of
them."

"I? Why, it's they who won't take any notice of me, auntie. I'm like my
little dog,--a vulgar plebeian. What would they say, what would they