The boy knelt down beside me and patted me. “He’s almost frozen,” he said.
“He would have been frozen by morning. Take him down and put him in the laundry, and tomorrow we’ll see what we can do with him.”
“I wish I could keep him,” said the boy.
He got up and coaxed me along the hall, and I followed him as best I could, but I was so stiff I could hardly move.
He took me down some steps and into a big room that had hardly anything in it, but it was warm and comfortable.
“Now, you stay here,” said the boy, “and I’ll get you something to eat.”
He ran away, shutting the door after him, but presently he came back again with a plate of food and set it down before me.
I was so hungry I ate and ate. “Why, you poor little fellow,” he cried, “you’re almost starved.” And then he said, “I believe I’ll call you Ragamuffin, and Rags for short. Or no; I’ll call you Muffins. That’s a good name. Poor little Muffins! Good Muffins!”
I wanted to tell him my name was Smarty, but I was busy eating, and then he wouldn’t have understood me anyway.
All the while I was eating I kept wagging my tail to show him how pleased I was, and when I finished the last scrap I looked up in his face and licked my lips and grinned.