"Oh," said Mary and Jeremy together.

"It's like Mother," said Jeremy, "when she's going to see someone
and isn't sure whether it's the right house."

Then, most marvellous of unexpected climaxes, the dog suddenly began
to squeeze itself between the bottom bar of the gate and the ground.
The interval was fortunately a large one; a moment later the animal
was in the Coles' garden.

The motives that led Jeremy to behave as he did are uncertain. It
may have been something to do with the general boredom of the
afternoon, it may have been that he felt pity for the bedraggled
aspect of the animal--most probable reason of all, was that devil-
may-care independence flung up from the road, as it were, expressly
at himself.

The dog obviously did not feel any great respect for the Cole
household. He wandered about the garden, sniffing and smelling
exactly as though the whole place belonged to him, and a ridiculous
stump of tail, unsubdued by the weather, gave him the ludicrous
dignity of a Malvolio.

"I'm going down," whispered Jeremy, flinging a cautious glance at
Helen who was absorbed in her sewing.

Mary's eyes grew wide with horror and admiration. "You're not going
out," she whispered. "In the snow. Oh, Jeremy. They WILL be angry."

"I don't care," whispered Jeremy back again. "They can be."