human
Oh, Patergrey, cried Roberta, springing to meet him, forgetful of her recent disaster and blackened hands, and giving him the caressing title--pronounced as one word--which she had long ago conferred upon him.
gpt
Where have you been 'one morning, oh, so early, my beloved, my beloved?'
human
I went to the post-office, and I stopped at Mrs. Bonell's--she waylaid me,
gpt
You're keeping back something!
human
He has a basket behind him, cried Prue, darting upon him.
gpt
What's in the basket, papa?
human
teased her father, holding Prue off with one hand.
gpt
Mrs. Bonell is going away.
human
Where? For long? asked Mrs. Grey, as Wythie exclaimed:
gpt
Oh, I am sorry.
human
To Europe, for many months, said Mr. Grey.
gpt
And I've told her we would take a boarder.
human
A boarder! Why, Sylvester!
gpt
I really thought you would like this one, said Mr. Grey.
human
It seemed very hard to say no. You see Mrs. Bonell said there was no one else in whom she would feel sufficient confidence to intrust this boarder to them, and when such a pretty young creature as she is flatters a weak man so, how can he resist? She says she knows we would never fail to the very end of his life to take care of him. She feels sure we are not the cruel sort of folk who would go away and leave him to shift for himself, nor put him out in the cold on winter nights when he had been in the warm house all day, and if he were sick that we would nurse him lovingly, and if he were suffering and past recovery we would chloroform him still more lovingly--in short, that we were ideal guardians of a cat. So I felt obliged to accept a rôle nature had evidently designed us to fill.
gpt
A cat! Oh, bless you! cried three rapturous girl voices, and Wythie added:
human
It isn't her lovely, white little Billee?
gpt
We have only seven cats taking their meals here now,
human
My dear, those are humble dependents; of those I hope we shall always have a store, for I want the little grey house to be the asylum for homeless creatures it was in my mother's day, said Mr. Grey, busying himself with the basket-strap.
gpt
But a cat, all our own, and one of the family, we have lacked since the day when poor old Nellie Grey went to the reward of cats of blameless character. Yes, Oswyth; this is, indeed, snow-white Billy, and I consider it a great honor that his mistress will intrust us with her pet.