It was now a very beautiful winter morning. Every blade of grass was silvered with hoarfrost and glittering in the newly risen sun. But Missis was far too worried to enjoy the beauty. The triumph of getting the bread was wearing off, and all sorts of fears were rushing at her.

Suppose Pongo was seriously injured? Suppose he was too lame to go on? Suppose she could find no food close at hand? If she had to go far, she knew she would get lost. She even got lost in Regent’s Park, almost every time the Dearlys were off the leash. They often laughed at the way she would stand still, wildly staring round for them. Suppose she never found her way back to Pongo and he searched and searched and never found her? Lost dog! The very words were terrible!

And was she even now quite sure of her way back to the haystack?

It isn’t fair,€ thought Missis. No one as worried as I am ought to feel hungry too.€ For she was ravenous and thirsty. She tried licking the ice in a ditch, but it hurt her tongue without quenching her thirst.

She was beginning to think she must go back and make sure where the haystack was, when she came to an old red-brick archway leading to a long gravel drive. Her spirits rose. Surely this must be the entrance to some big country house, such as she had stayed at several times when she and Mrs. Dearly were both bachelors. Such houses had many dogs, large kitchens, plenty of food. Joyfully she ran through the archway.

She could see no house ahead of her because the drive twisted. It was overgrown with weeds, and it went on so long that she began to wonder if it really did lead to a house. Indeed, it was now so wild and neglected that it seemed more like a path through a wood than the approach to a house. And it was so strangely silent; never in her life had Missis felt quite so alone.

More and more frightened, she ran round one more bend and suddenly she was out in the open, with the house in front of her.

It was very old, built of mellow red brick, like the archway, with many little diamond-paned windows and one great window that reached almost to the roof. The windows twinkling in the early morning sunshine looked cheerful and welcoming, but there was no sign of life anywhere. And there was grass growing in the cracks of the wide stone steps which led to the massive oak door.

It’s empty!€ thought Missis in despair.

But it was not empty. Looking out of an open window was a Spaniel, black except for his muzzle, which was grey with age.

Good morning,€ he said most courteously. Can I be of any help to you, my dear?€

Hot Buttered Toast