"Whoever tried to drown him doesn't want him back," he said wisely. "Do you know what I believe, mother?"
"No, Dick. How should I know?"
"Well, I believe God means us to keep him, and I'll tell you what makes me think so. God knows what happens everywhere. The parson said so last Sunday. He told us that there wasn't anything too small or poor to escape God's notice. So He must know that this poor dog has come whining to our door." Then, positively, "Of course He does!"
Mrs. Wilkins was silent.
Dick earnestly continued,—
"'Tisn't as if God ever made mistakes. He knows we're poor folks, and that at times we can scarcely find food for ourselves. Depend upon it, He won't let us lose by giving this dear old fellow a home. And when the time comes for paying his tax—"
"Eh, Dick, what then?" interjected his mother.
"He'll find us the seven and sixpence! P'raps I shall catch a fish in the river with a piece of money in its mouth," the little boy conjectured, thinking of the Bible story he had heard at school the week before.
"We must not decide to-night, child," said Mrs. Wilkins, heaving a deep sigh. "Poor thing, he shall sleep where he is till morning. Now, dear, we must go to bed."
"Must we?" The boy stooped over the exhausted animal and caressed its curly jacket. "Good-night, old man!" he said softly. "I'm glad we heard you whining. I'm glad we let you in."