Bob gave the promise readily, astonished; and at the same time very relieved, for he had been most anxious about Stray, fearing Tom might do him some further injury.
"He's a capital dog," he said, "and very gentle really. He'd never have flown at you if you hadn't—"
"Oh, I understand all about that!" interrupted Tom hastily. "What's his mistress called?" he inquired.
"Mrs. Winter—she's a real good sort. She lives at my aunt's, you know; rents one of the attics, so Jackie and I know her well."
"I suppose she's very poor if she lives in an attic," remarked Tom; "what makes her keep a dog, I wonder?"
Bob explained that Mrs. Winter had found Stray, and, seeing that Tom appeared interested, told him the story as Mrs. Winter had told it to Jackie and Jackie had repeated it to him.
"What a queer old soul she must be!" Tom exclaimed, laughing heartily but not ill-naturedly, "to think God sent the dog to her, I mean! Such a funny idea! Is she quite right here?" He tapped his forehead meaningly.
"Right in her head? Oh, yes!" Bob answered, adding, "And so you'd find, if you talked to her!"
No more passed between the boys then; but one fine Saturday afternoon, a few weeks later, Tom Smith waylaid Bob and Jackie, as they were returning from a walk accompanied by Stray, and tried to make friends with the dog. At first Stray treated Tom with suspicion and would not be touched by him; but at last he realised that the boy had only friendly intentions towards him now, and allowed him to pat him.
"He's wearing a very shabby collar," observed Tom; "the leather's nearly worn out where the fastening is. It won't last much longer."