aky voice of surprise; "what
a nasty, dirty thing to have for a pet! Don't you mean _pug_?"

"No, I don't," said David; "I mean pig."

"But it's not a common sort of pig at all," put in Pennie hastily, for
she saw her brother's face getting crimson with anger, "and it's
beautifully clean and clever. It shakes hands."

"We've got lots of animals," added Ambrose, "only you must come round to
the barn to see them."

"Well," said Ethelwyn as the children all moved away, David rather
sulkily, with hands in his pockets, "I _never_ heard of a pig as a pet.
I don't believe it's a proper sort of pet at all. Now, _I've_ got a
little tiny toy terrier at home, and he has a collar with silver bells.
I _had_ a canary, but Nurse left its cage on the window-ledge in a high
wind, and it blew right down on the pavement from the very tip-top of
the house, so it died."

"Oh," cried Nancy, horror-stricken, "how dreadful! Weren't you sorry?"

"Not very," said Ethelwyn coolly. "You see I'd had it a long time, and
I was rather tired of it, and I often forgot to feed it."

The animals were now visited, and introduced by their respective owners,
but without exciting much interest in Ethelwyn, for whatever she saw it
always appeared that she had something far better at home. Even
Antony's lively talents failed to move her, and, though she _could_ not
say she had a nicer pig herself, she observed calmly:

"Ah, you should see the animals in the Zoological Gardens!"

And to this there was no reply.

Then she was taken to swing in the barn, and this proved a more
successful entertainment, for as long as the children would swing her
Ethelwyn was content to be swung. When, however, Nancy boldly remarked:

"It's someone else's turn now," she was not quite so pleased, and soon
said in a discontented voice:

"I'm tired of this. Let's go indoors and see your playthings."

Here it was the same thing over again, for she found something slighting
to say even of the Lady Dulcibella, who was sitting prepared to receive
visitors in her best pink frock.

"Can she talk?" asked Ethelwyn. "_My_ last new doll says `papa,'
`mama.'"

Then her eye fell on the luckless Jemima, who, in her usual mean attire,
was sitting in the background with her head drooping helplessly, for it
had been loosened by constant execution.

"Oh," cried Ethelwyn, pouncing upon her with more animation than she had
yet shown, "here's a fright!"

She held the doll up