"Mother," said Dick in a low whisper, after several minutes' silence, "he's uncommon pretty, now he's dry. Don't you think so?"
"Yes, I do," assented Mrs. Wilkins. "No one could truthfully call him ugly with such a fine curly coat as he's got. And he seems gentle too," she added. "I can't think how folks can find it in their hearts to be cruel to a dumb thing like him."
The mother and her son sat still for a time, silently admiring the beautiful animal.
"Mother," said Dick, breaking the silence, "don't you wish we could keep him—for always, I mean? 'Twould be proper fun to see him swim in the river to fetch out sticks."
Mrs. Wilkins shook her head.
"Mother!" Dick's voice was low and coaxing; he slipped on to the floor and laid his head upon his mother's knee. "Do let us keep this poor dog that's come to our door to-night. He shall have half of my dinner every day, and a part of my supper too. O mother, do say yes!"
"Maybe he'll stray away when to-morrow comes."
"Yes, yes; but if he doesn't?"
"Well, Dick, it's not to be thought of—our keeping him—I'm afraid. You see, a big dog eats a lot; more than you could spare him from your meals every day, that's certain. Then, again, there'd be his tax; I couldn't afford to pay it. But," hopefully, "p'raps he'll be claimed."
The boy shook his head, and pointed at the rope.