The chauffeur started the car off again. What with the shock I had had and the luxury of riding in a motor-car, I was a little distrait, and I could not say how far we went. But it must have been miles and miles, for it seemed a long time afterwards that we stopped at the biggest house I have ever seen. There were smooth lawns and flower-beds, and men in overalls, and fountains and trees, and, away to the right, kennels with about a million dogs in them, all pushing their noses through the bars and shouting. They all wanted to know who I was and what prizes I had won, and then I realized that I was moving in high society. I let the small boy pick me up and carry me into the house, though it was all he could do, poor kid, for I was some weight. He staggered up the steps and along a great hall, and then let me flop on the carpet of the most beautiful room you ever saw. The carpet was a yard thick. There was a woman sitting in a chair, and as soon as she saw me she gave a shriek. 'I told Master Peter you would not be pleased, m'lady,' said the nurse, who seemed to have taken a positive dislike to me, 'but he would bring the nasty brute home.' 'He's not a nasty brute, mother. He's my dog, and his name's Fido. John ran over him in the car, and I brought him home to live with us. I love him.' This seemed to make an impression. Peter's mother looked as if she were weakening. 'But, Peter, dear, I don't know what your father will say. He's so particular about dogs. All his dogs are prize-winners, pedigree dogs. This is such a mongrel.' 'A nasty, rough, ugly, common dog, m'lady,' said the nurse, sticking her oar in in an absolutely uncalled-for way. Just then a man came into the room. 'What on earth?' he said, catching sight of me. 'It's a dog Peter has brought home. He says he wants to keep him.' 'I'm going to keep him,' corrected Peter firmly. I do like a child that knows his own mind. I was getting fonder of Peter every minute. I reached up and licked his hand. 'See! He knows he's my dog, don't you, Fido? He licked me.' 'But, Peter, he looks so fierce.' This, unfortunately, is true. I do look fierce. It is rather a misfortune for a perfectly peaceful dog. 'I'm sure it's not safe your having him.' 'He's my dog, and his name's Fido. I am going to tell cook to give him a bone.' His mother looked at his father, who gave rather a nasty laugh. 'My dear Helen,' he said, 'ever since Peter was born, ten years ago, he has not asked for a single thing, to the best of my recollection, which he has not got. Let us be consistent. I don't approve of this caricature of a dog, but if Peter wants him, I suppose he must have him.' 'Very well. But the first sign of viciousness he shows, he shall be shot. He makes me nervous.' So they left it at that, and I went off with Peter to get my bone.