She ran into the house, and found Julia seated at a slim-legged desk, writing a note.

“Aunt Julia, it’s about Gammire.”

“Gamin.”

“What?”

“His name is Gamin.”

“Kitty Silver says his name’s Gammire.”

“Yes,” said Julia.  “She would.  His name is Gamin, though.  He’s a little Parisian rascal, and his name is Gamin.”

“Well, Aunt Julia, I’d rather call him Gammire.  How much did he cost?”

“I don’t know; he was brought to me only this morning, and I haven’t asked yet.”

“But I thought somebody gave him to you.”

“Yes; somebody did.”

“Well, I mean,” said Florence, “how much did the person that gave him to you pay for him?”

Julia sighed.  “I just explained, I haven’t had a chance to ask.”

Florence looked hurt.  “I don’t mean you would ask ’em right out.  I just meant:  Wouldn’t you be liable to kind of hint around an’ give ’em a chance to tell you how much it was?  You know perfeckly well it’s the way most the fam’ly do when they give each other somep’n pretty expensive, Christmas or birthdays, and I thought proba’ly you’d——­”

“No.  I shouldn’t be surprised, Florence, if nobody ever got to know how much Gamin cost.”

“Well——­” Florence said, and decided to approach her purpose on a new tack.  “Who was it trained him?”

“I understand that the person who gave him to me has played with him at times during the few days he’s been keeping him, but hasn’t ‘trained’ him particularly.  French Poodles almost learn their own tricks if you give them a chance.  It’s natural to them; they love to be little clowns if you let them.”

“But who was this person that gave him to you?”

Julia laughed.  “It’s a secret, Florence—­like Gamin’s price.”

At this Florence looked piqued.  “Well, I guess I got some manners!” she exclaimed.  “I know as well as you do, Aunt Julia, there’s no etiquette in coming right square out and asking how much it was when somebody goes and makes you a present.  I’m certainly enough of a lady to keep my mouth shut when it’s more polite to!  But I don’t see what harm there is in telling who it is that gives anybody a present.”

“No harm at all,” Julia murmured as she sealed the note she had written.  Then she turned smilingly to face her niece.  “Only I’m not going to.”

“Well, then, Aunt Julia”—­and now Florence came to her point—­“what I wanted to know is just simply the plain and simple question:  Will you give this dog Gammire to me?”

Julia leaned forward, laughing, and suddenly clapped her hands together, close to Florence’s face.  “No, I won’t!” she cried.  “There!”

The niece frowned, lines of anxiety appearing upon her forehead.  “Well, why won’t you?”

“I won’t do it!”

“But, Aunt Julia, I think you ought to!”

“Why ought I to?”