omething nice fo' that, Hero. Wait
till I run back up-stairs and get my purse."

Anxious to make him do something else interesting, Howl still followed the
dog. He tickled his paws, turned his ears back and blew in them and
blindfolded him with a dirty handkerchief.

Lloyd was gone longer than she intended, for she could not find her purse
for several minutes, and she stopped to tell her mother of Hero's
performance with the sofa pillow. When she went into the parlour again,
both boys were kneeling beside the dog. Their backs were toward the door,
Henderson had brought the shawl-strap, and they were using it for the
further discomfort of the patient old St. Bernard.

"Here, Henny, you sit on his head," commanded Howl, "and I'll buckle his
hind feet to his fore feet, so that when he tries to walk he'll wabble
around and tip over. Won't that be funny?"

"Stop!" demanded Lloyd. "Don't you do that, Howl Sattawhite! I've told you
enough times to stop teasing my dog."

Howl only giggled in reply and drew the buckle tighter. There was a quick
yelp of pain, and Hero, trying to pull away found himself fast by the
foot.

Before Howl could rise from his knees, the Little Colonel had darted
across the room, and seizing him by the shoulders, shook him till his
teeth chattered.

"There!" she said, giving him a final shake as she pushed him away. "Don't
you evah lay a fingah on that dog again, as long as you live. If you do
you'll be sorry. I'll do something _awful_ to you!"

For the second time that afternoon her face was white with anger. Her eyes
flashed so threateningly that Howl backed up against the wall, thoroughly
frightened. Releasing Hero from the strap, she led him out of the room,
and, with her hand laid protectingly on his collar, marched him out into
the street.

"Those tawmentin' Sattawhites!" she grumbled, under her breath. "I wish
they were all shut up in jail, every one of them!"

But her anger died out as she walked on in the bright sunshine, watching
the strange scenes around her with eager eyes. More than one head turned
admiringly, as the daintily dressed little girl and the great St. Bernard
passed slowly down the broad boulevard. It seemed as if all the nurses and
babies in Touraine were out for an airing on the grass where the benches
stood, between the long double rows of trees.

Once Lloyd stopped to peep through a doorway set in a high stone wall.
Within the enclosure a group of girls, in the d