The maid pushed them away with a strong hand, and then carefully drew aside a corner of the covering.  Lloyd gave an exclamation of pleasure, for the head that popped out was that of a bright little French poodle.  She had thought many times that morning of the two Bobs, and good old Fritz, dead and gone, of Boots, the hunting-dog, and the goat and the gobbler and the parrot,—­all the animals she had loved and played with at Locust, wishing she had them with her.  Now as she saw the bright eyes of the poodle peeping over the blanket, she forgot that she was a stranger, and running across the deck, she stooped down beside it.

“Oh, the darling little dog!” she exclaimed, touching the silky hair softly.  “May I hold him for a minute?”

The maid smiled, but shook her head.  “Ah, that the madame will not allow,” she said.

“It cost a thousand dollars,” explained Howell, eagerly, “and mamma thinks more of it than she does of us.  Doesn’t she, Henny?”

The small boy nodded with a finger in his mouth.

“Show her Beauty’s bracelet, Fanchette,” said Howell.  Turning back another fold of the blanket, the maid lifted a little white paw, on which sparkled a tiny diamond bracelet.  Lloyd drew a long breath of astonishment.  “Some of its teeth are filled with gold,” continued Howell.  “We had to stay a whole week in New York while Beauty was in the dog hospital, having them filled.  They could only do a little at a time.  One of his tricks is to laugh so that he shows all his fillings.  Laugh, Beauty!” he commanded.  “Laugh, old fellow, and show your gold teeth!”

He shook a dirty finger in the poodle’s face, and it obediently stretched its mouth, to show all its little gold-filled teeth.

“See!” exclaimed Howell, much pleased.  “Do it again!”

But the maid interfered.  “Your mother told you not to touch Beauty again.  You’d have the poor little thing’s mouth stretched till it had the face-ache, if you weren’t watched all the time.  Go away!  You are a naughty boy!”

Howell’s lips shot out in a sullen pout, and the maid, not knowing what he might do next, rose with the poodle in her arms and walked to the other side of the vessel.

“Wish’t the little beast was dead!” he muttered.  “I get scolded and punished for nothing at all whenever it is around.  It and Fidelia!  I haven’t any use for girls and puppy-dogs!”

After this uncivil remark he waited for the angry retort which he thought would naturally follow, but to his surprise Lloyd only laughed good-naturedly.  She found him amusing, even if he was rude and cross, and she could not wonder that he had such an opinion of girls, after witnessing his quarrel with Fidelia.  The boys had begun it, but she was older and could have turned it aside had she wished.  And she thought it perfectly natural that he should dislike the dog if he thought his mother preferred its comfort to his.