Peter made one last effort. "He's a fine breed, his roof is black," he said. "He'd make an awful good watch dog."
"Well, we really don't need a watch dog," his mother answered, and half smiled.
Maizie, advancing from the dining-room, stared at the intruder on his way out.
"Oh, but this dog has hair, mother," she cried. "You remember one of the others hadn't."
"Hair, or no hair," Mrs. Procter returned determinedly, "that dog is not going to stay in this house. I've had enough of stray animals to last me for quite awhile."
Peter stood holding the rope and still looking at his mother. But his hopeful expression, brought on by Maizie's words, was fast ebbing.
"Hurry up," said Mrs. Procter. "Take him away."
"Can't he stay for one night, mother?"
Suzanna, silent during the colloquy, now spoke.
"Maybe we can find another home for him, Peter. We were just going over to Graham Bartlett's, and perhaps he'd keep the dog. We'll ask his mother," she said.