The "very nice dog" turned round, licking his chops contentedly. It almost seemed as if he winked at Patricia.
The next instant, skilfully dodging Miss Susan, he had retired to the side yard, to finish licking his chops. Truly, it was a red-letter day for him. He wagged affably at the eloquent Miss Susan; surely he had paid her the highest compliment in his power.
"Oh, I am so sorry," Patricia declared. "He must have been very hungry—I couldn't have given him nearly enough breakfast." Then she brightened. "After all, Miss Susan, I don't suppose he's ever had custard before; and I know Dr. Vail has—lots of times."
Which view of the case did not in the least appeal to the indignant maker of the custard.
Seeing which, Patricia concluded that the best thing to do was to take her charge away as quickly as possible. And in the confusion milk and cookies were quite forgotten.
"Really, you know," Patricia admonished, once they were outside the gate, "you're not behaving at all well! Tearing table-cloths, chasing cats, and eating up custards aren't at all good dog manners."
The culprit, quick to detect the disapproval in Patricia's voice, thought it time to limp again.
"Is your paw very bad?" Patricia asked.
The dog assured her that it was.
"I don't know what we're going to do next," Patricia told him. And once back on the main road, she came to a standstill. She couldn't take her protégé home; even less could she desert him. She sat down by the roadside to consider the matter—to consider various other matters, as well. Even with Patricias there comes the moment of reckoning.