The 101 Dalmatians by Dodie Smith Page A

Missis Pongo, I presume? All arrangements were made for you by Late Twilight Barking. Please follow me.”
    He led them to an old gabled inn and then under an archway to a cobbled yard.
    â€œPlease drink here, at my own bowl,” he said. “Food awaits you in your sleeping quarters, but water could not be arranged.”
    (For no dog can carry a full water-bowl.)
    Pongo and Missis had had only one drink since they left home, at an old drinking trough for horses, which had a lower trough for dogs. They now gulped thirstily and gratefully.
    â€œMy pride as an innkeeper tempts me to offer you one of our best bedrooms,” said the Golden Retriever. “They combine old-world charm with all modern conveniences—and no charge for breakfast in bed. But it wouldn’t be wise.”
    â€œNo, indeed,” said Pongo. “We might be discovered.”
    â€œExactly. We are putting you in the safest place any of us could think of. Naturally every dog in the village came to the meeting after the Late Barking—when we heard this village was to have the honour of receiving you. Step this way.”
    At the far end of the yard were some old stables, and in the last stable of all was a broken-down stagecoach.
    â€œJust the right place for Dalmatians,” said Pongo, smiling, “for our ancestors were trained to run behind coaches and carriages. Some people still call us Coach Dogs or Carriage Dogs.”
    And your run from London has shown you are worthy of your ancestors,“ said the Golden Retriever. ”When I was a pup we sometimes took this old coach out for the school picnic, but no one has bothered with it for years now. You should be quite safe, and some dogs will always be on guard. In case of sudden alarm, you can go out by the back door of the stable and escape across the fields.“
    There was a deep bed of straw on the floor of the coach, and neatly laid out on the seat were two magnificent chops, half a dozen iced cakes, and a box of peppermint creams.
    â€œFrom the butcher’s dog, the baker’s dog, and the dog at the sweet-shop,” said the Retriever. “I shall arrange your dinner. Will steak be satisfactory?”
    Pongo and Missis said it would indeed, and tried to thank him for everything, but he waved their thanks away, saying, “It’s a very great honour. We are planning a small plaque—to be concealed from human eyes, of course— saying: PONGO AND MISSIS SLEPT HERE.”
    Then he took them to the cobwebbed window and pointed out a smaller edition of himself, who was patrolling the inn courtyard.
    My youngest lad, already on guard. He’s hoping to see you for a moment, when you’re rested, and ask for your paw-marks—to start his collection. A small guard of honour will see you out of the village, but I shan’t let them waste too much of your time. Good night—though it’s really good morning. Pleasant dreams.“
    As soon as he had gone, Pongo and Missis ate ravenously.
    â€œThough perhaps we should not eat too heavily before going to sleep,” said Pongo, so they left a couple of peppermint creams. (Missis later ate them in her sleep.) Then they settled down in the straw, close together, and got warmer and warmer.
    Missis said, Do you feel sure our puppies will be well fed and well taken care of?“
    â€œQuite sure. And they will be safe for a long time, because their spots are nowhere near big enough for a striking fur coat yet. Oh, Missis, how pleasant it is to be on our own like this!”
    Missis thumped her tail with joy—and with relief. For there had been moments when she had felt—not jealous, exactly, but just a bit wistful about Pongo’s affection for Perdita. She loved Perdita, was grateful to her and sorry for her; still—well, it was nice to have her own husband to herself, thought Missis. But she made herself say, “Poor Perdita! No husband, no puppies! We must never let