"But isn't he dear?" Gary pleaded. "Look, he is wagging his tail at you."
Indeed, Rags did wag his tail. He wagged and wagged. Then he had a bright idea. He scooted across the floor, picked up the potato, and carried it to Grandma.
"See." Gary cried, "Rags will be a helper."
Rags stood still.
His brown eyes looked hopefully into Grandma's face.
She hated to turn him out.
Yet she could scarcely manage their own meals, and felt that she could never feed a stray dog.
She looked down at Rags. "We'll keep him until tomorrow," she said,
"Then we will hunt a home for him."
Rags was happy.
Grandma gave him some milk.