“And, George,” she said timidly, “you are as full of remorse as ever, aren’t you?”
“Full of remorse as ever, dearest! See my punishment: living in a kennel.”
“But it is punishment, isn’t it, George? You are sure you are not enjoying it?”
“My love!”
You may be sure she begged his pardon; and then, feeling drowsy, he curled round in the kennel.
“Won’t you play me to sleep,” he asked, “on the nursery piano?” and as she was crossing to the day-nursery he added thoughtlessly, “And shut that window. I feel a draught.”
“O, George, never ask me to do that. The window must always be left open for them, always, always.”
Now it was his turn to beg her pardon; and she went into the day-nursery and played, and soon he was asleep; and while he slept, Wendy and John and Michael flew into the room.
Oh no. We have written it so, because that was the charming arrangement planned by them before we left the ship; but something must
