"The poor creature has not been himself since the young masters have been away.

He feels too lonesome to hunt the mice as he used to do so gaily in the old days, tossing them up in the air when he caught them, and bringing them mewing to my feet,--the dear one! Why, he hardly ever touches a drop of milk now." "Yes, I see he spares our cream--" "Oh, madame, that was a libel on the poor animal.

It was only the dear lad Eric's joke! Mouser would never touch one drop of the breakfast cream, save perhaps when we might be late for the meal, or when the dear fellow felt a little thirsty, or--" "Ah, indeed! Yes, no doubt," interrupted Madame Dort, laughing again.
"He would have been at it again to-day, only Burgher Jans' dog came in at the nick of time and scared him away!" "Did he!" said Lorischen indignantly.

"It strikes me that pest of a terrier is here a good deal too much, like his master! And, talk of him, there he is!" she added hastily, leaving the room as a knock came to the door.
Burgher Jans came in as the old nurse went out, brushing by him with ill-concealed contempt and aversion.

He was a fat little man, with long straight hair coming down over his coat collar, and a round, full-moon sort of face, whose effect of beaming complacency was enhanced by a pair of large-rimmed tortoise-shell spectacles out of which his owl-like eyes shone with an air of balmy wisdom.
"Most worthy lady," he commenced, addressing Madame Dort with an elaborate bow, sweeping the floor with his hat.