Instead, at every turn, there was a hint of feminine tastes: a mirror, a
workbasket, a low sewing-chair, a stand with a tea tray. And everywhere
were roses, up-stairs and down-stairs, until the air was heavy with
their perfume. In the dining-room Pete was again "swinging back and
forth like a pendulum," it is true; but it was a cheerful pendulum
to-day, anxious only that no time should be lost. In the kitchen alone
was there unhappiness, and there because Dong Ling had already spoiled
a whole cake of chocolate in a vain attempt to make Billy's favorite
fudge. Even Spunkie, grown now to be sleek, lazy, and majestically
indifferent, was in holiday attire, for a brand-new pink bow of huge
dimensions adorned his fat neck--for the first time in many months.
"You see," William had explained to Bertram, "I put on that ribbon again
because I thought it would make Spunkie seem more homelike, and more
like Spunk. You know there wasn't anything Billy missed so much as that
kitten when she went abroad. Aunt Hannah said so."
"Yes, I know," Bertram had laughed; "but still, Spunkie isn't Spunk, you
understand!" he had finished, with a vision in his eyes of Billy as she
had looked that first night when she had triumphantly lifted from the
green basket the little gray kitten with its enormous pink bow. This
time there was no circuitous journeying, no secrecy in the trip to New
York.
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