Dorothy patted the dog’s head. “Got lost in the storm, I guess. The poor little chap can’t be over three months old. Does he belong up at the house?”
“No, he doesn’t. What’s more, none of the people who live around here have a fox terrier pup that I know of.”
Dorothy examined the pup’s front paws, but did so very gently. “This little man has come a long way.” She covered him again. “The bottom of his feet show it. They’re cut and badly swollen. And he’s half-frozen and starved into the bargain, I’ll bet. Let’s go back to the house and make him comfortable.”
“I’ll carry the brooms,” said Gretchen. “You have an armful, with him. By the way, you’re going to keep him, aren’t you?”
“Surest thing you know! That is, unless someone comes to claim him.”
They trudged off through the trees and up the hill, Gretchen shouldering the brooms.
“What are you going to call him?” she asked, after a while.
“What do you think?”
“Why, I don’t know. Wait a minute, though—there’s a girl who lives over in Silvermine named Dorothea Gutmann. Daddy sometimes does work for her father. Dorothea has a fox terrier pup and she calls him ‘Professor.’ Do you know why?”
“I give up,” said Dorothy, floundering through the snow beside her. “Why does Dorothea Gutmann call her fox terrier pup Professor?”