“I thought of doing that, but I do not wish him killed nor left without a master. You see, he belonged to my sister who died two years ago. She charged me to see that he was always well cared for, and who can tell what would happen to him in a camp?”
“He is certainly a darling,” repeated Lucie, standing on tiptoe that her fingers might touch the cold nose of the little dog who licked her fingers daintily. “See, Victor, he makes friends with me at once.”
“Would you like to have him?” asked Victor suddenly.
“O, Victor, I would, I truly would.”
“Then he is yours.”
“O, but—”
“Your mother will permit?”
“I think so. I am sure she will.”
“Yet we would better ask.”
Paying no heed to the flowers she had dropped in her effort to reach the dog, Lucie turned to run back to her mother. “Mamma, Mamma,” she cried as she burst into the room, “that Victor is there with a dog, so darling a dog as you never saw, so affectionate, so intelligent, and this dog is mine if you give me permission to keep him.”