“Very well,” said her father. “But I don’t suppose for a moment that Timmy will be able to climb up the spiral stairway.”

“Oh, he can, Father — he’s been up it once already,” said George.

“Good heavens!” said her father. “Has the dog been up there too? All right, George — I promise I’ll take him up with me each morning that I signal, and get him to wag his tail at you. There! Will that satisfy you?”

“Yes. Thank you,” said George. “And you’ll give him a few kind words and a pat occasionally, Father, won’t you… and… ?”

“And put his bib on for him at meal-times, I suppose, and clean his teeth for him at night!” said her father, looking cross again. “I shall treat Timmy like a proper grown-up dog, a friend of mine, George — and believe me, that’s the way he wants me to treat him. Isn’t it, Timmy? You like all those frills to be kept for your mistress, don’t you, not for me?”

“Woof,” said Timmy, and thumped his tail. The children looked at him admiringly. He really was a very sensible clever dog. He seemed somehow much more grown-up than George.

“Uncle, if anything goes wrong, or you want help or anything, flash eighteen times again,” said Julian. “You ought to be all right with Timmy. He’s better than a dozen policemen — but you never know.”

“Right. Eighteen flashes if I want you over here for anything,” said his uncle. “I’ll remember. Now you’d better all go. It’s time I got on with my work.”

“You’ll pour that soup away, won’t you, Quentin?” said his wife, anxiously. “You don’t want to make yourself ill by eating bad soup. It must be green by now! It would be so like you to forget all about it while it was fresh and good — and only remember when it was bad!”

“What a thing to say!” said her husband, getting up. “Anyone would think I was five years old, without a brain in my head, the way you talk to me!”

“You’ve plenty of brains dear, we all know that,” said his wife. “But you don’t seem very old sometimes! Now look after yourself — and keep Timmy by you all the time.”

“Father won’t need to bother about that,” said George. “Timmy will keep by him! You’re on guard, Timmy, aren’t you? And you know what that means!”

“Woof,” said Timmy, solemnly. He went with them all to the boat, but he did not attempt to get in. He stood by George’s father and watched the boat bob away over the water. “Good-bye, Timmy!” shouted George, in a funny fierce voice. “Look after yourself!”

Her father waved, and Timmy wagged his tail. George took one of the pairs of oars from Dick and began to row furiously, her face red with the hard work.

Julian looked at her in amusement. It was hard work for him, too, to keep up with the furious rowing, but he didn’t say anything. He knew all this fury in rowing was George’s way of hiding her grief at parting with Timmy. Funny old George! She was always so intense about things — furiously happy or furiously unhappy, in the seventh heaven of delight or down in the very depths of despair or anger.