"Oh, you _are_ stupid!" she exclaimed; "staring with your glassy eyes, always your same pink cheeks, and never saying a word." "Dolls don't talk," said Turly, who was now solemnly engaged in making a play on the floor with a box of soldiers. "Of course they don't," said Terry. "That's just what it is. I hate playing with things that have got no life in them!" "Soldiers aren't alive," said Turly, as one tumbled over and he set it up again, "but I'm having a splendid battle." "Oh, Turly, how can you? Oh, I do so want things to be alive! Now, do just come over to the window and look down into the yard at Vulcan sitting in his kennel, poor dear, when he is longing to be running all over the world! Oh, I declare, he sees us, and is wagging his tail! Just look at his big eyes and his nose pointed up at us. Now, that is the kind of creature I want to play with. But there he is shut up in his cage, and we--" "Can't we go down to him?" said Turly. "It's too wet. Nurse would be in such a fuss if we played in the yard. But I don't see why we mightn't bring him up. He's the watch-dog, and watch-dogs are only wanted there at night. It couldn't be any harm to have him up here only for half an hour or so. I'll wipe his paws on the mat so that he sha'n't make any mess. And he doesn't bark much unless he hears a noise at night, so I am sure he wouldn't disturb Grandma." Turly had swept away his soldiers, and stood up ready for the adventure. "I won that battle," he said; "so now, come on!" "Take my hand, Turly. They sha'n't say I led you into mischief this time," said Terry. "I'll take care you don't fall down the back stairs." [Illustration] "I can take care of that myself," said Turly. "No, you can't. You are not as old as I am, so hold on to me well in case the stairs are slippy." They went out on the landing very quietly, "not to make any fuss", as Terry said, and made for the gate at the top of the stairs. Terry knew the trick of the hasp and it was quickly opened, and away they went, down flight after flight, into the yard. "Oh, I say, it _is_ wet!" said Turly, as they paddled across the yard with the rain pouring on them. "Hush!" said Terry, "or someone will hear you and come running to prevent us. And it can't be any harm. It will be such a delightful treat for poor old Vulcan!" Turly said no more, and the two children stood with the rain drenching their hair and clothes, and almost blinding them, as in silence they unfastened the chain that held Vulcan to his kennel. The dog was scarcely able to believe his senses when he felt the little soft hands pawing at his neck, and as soon as he was free he jumped on them wildly, embracing them with his hairy arms and covering them with mud. "Quiet, now, Vulcan!" said Terry softly. "You must be very good, or we sha'n't be able to take you up to the nursery. Come along, old fellow, and pick your steps over the sloppy places."