"On Saturday."
"This is Tuesday. The box is nearly full. It looks like good stuff." He paused between each sentence. "But you would bet."
Francis without looking busied himself with his little pupil.
"I have emptied the box," announced Kimberly. There was no answer. "Do you want any of it back?"
Francis waved the offer aside.
"A few pinches, Francis?"
"Nothing."
"That dog," continued Kimberly, rapping the box to get every grain out and perceiving the impossibility of harrying Francis in any other way, "is good for nothing anyway. He wasn't worth saving."
"That dog," returned Francis earnestly, "is a marvel of intelligence and patience. He has so sweet a temper, and he is so quick, Robert, to comprehend."
"I fail to see it."