dog, and really we can't turn him out into the snow at once. It
would be too cruel. But mind, children, it's only for one night. He
looks a good little dog."

When the "quality" had departed, Jeremy's mind was in a confused
condition of horror and delight. Such a victory as he had won over
the Jampot, a victory that was a further stage in the fight for
independence begun on his birthday, might have very awful qualities.
There would begin now one of the Jampot's sulks--moods well known to
the Cole family, and lasting from a day to a week, according to the
gravity of the offence. Yes, they had already begun. There she sat
in her chair by the fire, sewing, sewing, her fat, roly-poly face
carved into a parody of deep displeasure. Life would be very
unpleasant now. No tops of eggs, no marmalade on toast, no skins of
milk, no stories of "when I was a young girl," no sitting up five
minutes "later," no stopping in the market-place for a talk with the
banana woman--only stern insistence on every detail of daily life;
swift judgment were anything left undone or done wrong.

Jeremy sighed; yes, it would be horrid and, for the sake of the
world in general, which meant Mary and Helen, he must see what a
little diplomacy would do. Kneeling down by the dog, he looked up
into her face with the gaze of ingenuous innocence.

"You wouldn't have wanted the poor little dog to have died in the
snow, would you, Nurse ? . . . It might, you know. It won't be any
trouble, I expect--"

There was no reply. He could hear Mary and Helen drawing in their
breaths with excited attention.