"No, indeed," said Mabel warmly; "I would not give fifty cents for him."

"You can have him for nothing," said Tattine, with a wan little smile; "after
this he can never be trusted in anything."



CHAPTER VI. "IT IS THEIR NATURE TO."

Tattine was getting on beautifully with her attempt to use Grandma Luty's name
at the proper time, and in the proper place, and she was getting on
beautifully with grandma herself as well. She loved everything about her, and
wished it need not be so very long till she could be a grandma herself, have
white hair and wear snowy caps atop of it, and kerchiefs around her neck, and
use gold eye-glasses and a knitting-basket. Grandma Luty, you see, was one of
the dear, old-fashioned grandmothers. There are not many of them nowadays.
Most of them seem to like to dress so you cannot tell a grandmother from just
an ordinary everyday mother. If you have a grandmother--a nice old one, I
mean--see if you cannot get her into the cap and kerchief, and then show her
how lovely she looks in them. But what I was going to tell you was that
Grandma Luty's visit was all a joy to Tattine, and so when, just at daylight
one morning, the setter puppies in their kennel at the back of the house
commenced a prodigious barking, Tattine's first thought was for Grandma.

"It's a perfect shame to have them wake her up," she said to herself, "and I
know a way to stop them," so, quiet as a mouse, she stole out of bed, slipped
into her bed-slippers and her nurse's wrapper, that was lying across a chair,
and then just as noiselessly stole downstairs, and unlocking the door leading
to the back porch, hurried to open the gate of the kennel, for simply to let