“You have the advantage of me, Johnnie.  And I’ve told you before it’s not polite to address a gentleman in a language he’s not familiar with, when you’re perfectly acquainted with his own.  The only word I caught was ‘Guyablle!’ and that’s not a word for young people like you and me, though it may suit Marielihou.  I’m very much afraid I’ll have to speak to the schoolmaster about you, after all, and to the Vicar too, maybe.  What?  A Wesleyan, are you?  Very well then, it’s Monsieur Bisson I must speak to.”

Here the small boy, with his face crumpled up into a grin, pointed a thin grimy finger past the young man, and he turned and saw the ladies.  He doffed his cap and jumped down and tapped out his pipe, and the dogs sprang up expectant;—­Punch, grave as ever but light on his feet for instant start; Scamp twisting himself into figure-eights, and rending the air with such yelps of delight that not a word could they pass.

“Johnnie!  Stop him!” shouted Graeme.  The small boy in the hedge flung out his arm with a sudden threatening gesture, and the circling Scamp fled through the gateway and up the garden with a shriek of dismay, and remained there yelping as if he had been struck.

“Odd that, isn’t it?” said Graeme.  “Johnnie’s the only person that can stop that small dog talking; and, what’s more, he can do it a hundred yards away.  If the dog can see him that’s enough, and yet they’re good enough friends as a rule.  Look at Punch!”

The big brown fellow was standing eyeing the small boy with an odd expression, intent, expectant, doubtful, with just a touch of apprehension in it, and perhaps of latent anger.

“Can you do it with Punch?” asked Miss Penny.

The small boy shook his head.  “Godzamin, he’d eat me if I tried,” he said, and lifted his eyes from the dog’s, and the dog walked quietly up to Margaret and pushed his great head under her hand.

“He’s a fine fellow,” she said, caressing him.

“A most gentlemanly dog,” said Miss Penny.  “His eyes are absolutely poetical,—­charged with thoughts too deep for words.”

“Yes, he’s dumb,” said Graeme, stooping to pull a long brown ear.

“Really?” asked Margaret, looking into his face to make sure he was not joking.

“We’ve been close friends for a month now, and I’ve never heard his voice even in a whisper, nor has anyone else.  I’ve an idea Johnnie here has put a spell on him.”

“Poor old fellow!” said Margaret, fondling the big brown head.

“Oh, he’s quite happy—­bold as a lion and graceful as a panther, and Scamp talks more than enough for the two of them.”

“And what a fine big cat you have, Johnnie!” said Miss Penny, and stretched a friendly hand towards Marielihou.  “What do you call it?”

“Marrlyou,” growled Johnnie; and Marielihou bristled and spat at the advancing white hand, which retired rapidly.

“The nasty beast!” said Miss Penny, and Marielihou glared at her with eyes of scorching green fire.