But one day the coachman says that the little lady they called Miss
Dorothy had come back from school, and that same morning she runs
over to the stables to pat her ponies, and she sees me.

"Oh, what a nice little, white little dog," said she; "whose little
dog are you?" says she.

"That's my dog, miss," says the Master. "'Is name is Kid," and I ran
up to her most polite, and licks her fingers, for I never see so
pretty and kind a lady.

"You must come with me and call on my new puppies," says she, picking
me up in her arms and starting off with me.

"Oh, but please, Miss," cries Nolan, "Mr. Wyndham give orders that
the Kid's not to go to the kennels."

"That'll be all right," says the little lady; "they're my kennels
too. And the puppies will like to play with him."

You wouldn't believe me if I was to tell you of the style of them
quality-dogs. If I hadn't seen it myself I wouldn't have believed it
neither. The Viceroy of Canada don't live no better. There was forty
of them, but each one had his own house and a yard--most exclusive--
and a cot and a drinking-basin all to hisself. They had servants
standing 'round waiting to feed 'em when they was hungry, and valets
to wash 'em; and they had their hair combed and brushed like the
grooms must when they go out on the box. Even the puppies had
overcoats with their names on 'em in blue letters, and the name of
each of those they called champions was painted up fine over his