Free The 101 Dalmatians by Dodie Smith

on. “Breakfast before you tell me any more, young lady,” and led her to a large plate of meat.
    â€œBut it’s your breakfast,” said Missis, trying not to look as hungry as she felt.
    â€œNo, it isn’t. It’s my supper, if you really want to know. I’d no appetite—and I shan’t have any for breakfast, which will be served to me any minute. Tea’s my meal. Hurry up, my dear. It will be thrown away if you don’t eat it.”
    Missis took one delicious gulp. Then she stopped. “My husband—”
    The Spaniel interrupted her. “We’ll see about his breakfast later, Finish it all, my child.”
    So Missis ate and ate and then had a long drink from a white pottery bowl. She had never seen a bowl like it.
    â€œThat’s an eighteenth century dog’s drinking bowl,” said the Spaniel, “handed down from dog to dog in this family. And now, before you get too sleepy, you’d better bring your husband here.”
    â€œOh, yes” said Missis eagerly. “Please tell me how to get back to the haystack.”
    â€œJust go to the end of the drive and turn left.”
    â€œI’m not very good at right and left,” said Missis, “especially left.”
    The Spaniel smiled, then looked at her paws. “This will help you,” he said. “That paw with the pretty spot—that is your right paw.”
    â€œThen which is my left paw?”
    â€œWhy, the other paw, of course.”
    â€œBack or front?” asked Missis.
    â€œJust forget your back paws.”
    Missis was puzzled. Could she forget her back paws? And if she could, would it be safe?
    The Spaniel went on. “Look at your front paws and remember: Right paw, spot. Left paw, no spot.”
    Missis stared hard at her paws. “I will practise,” she said earnestly. “But please tell me how to turn left.”
    â€œTurn on the side of the paw which does not have a spot.”
    â€œWhichever way I am going?”
    â€œCertainly,” said the Spaniel. “The paw with the spot will always be your right paw. You can depend on that.”
    â€œIf I turned towards you now, would I be turning left?” asked Missis, after thinking very hard.
    â€œYes, yes. Splendid!” said the Spaniel.
    Missis then turned round and faced the other way. “But now you are on the side of the paw with the spot,” she said worriedly, “so my right paw has turned into my left.”
    The Spaniel gave it up. “I will show you the haystack,” he said, and led her out through what once must have been a fine kitchen-garden but was now a mass of weeds. Beyond it were the fields. Missis could just see the thatched cottages and the haystack.
    â€œIt’s the only haystack,” said the Spaniel. “All the same, keep your eyes on it all the time you run. I would come with you, but my rheumatism prevents me—and Sir Charles will need me to carry his spectacle-case downstairs. We are an old, old couple, my dear. He is ninety, and I—according to a foolish human reckoning that one year of a dog’s life represents seven years of human life—I am a hundred and five. ”
    â€œI should never have guessed it,” said Missis politely—and truthfully.
    â€œAnyway, I’m still young enough to know a pretty dog when I see one,” said the Spaniel gallantly. “Now off you go for your husband. You’ll have no difficulty in finding your way back because you will see our chimneys from the haystack.”
    â€œRight or left?” asked Missis brightly.
    â€œIn front of your delightful nose. If I’m not here, just take your husband into the kitchen and I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
    Missis raced off happily across the frosty fields, never taking her eyes off the haystack and feeling very proud when she reached it without getting lost. Pongo was still heavily asleep, with the bread and butter by