Presently Dot broke the silence the stillness by asking, "What do you do in this lonesome place, where you have no one to talk to?"
"Why, most of the time I watch, as it is my duty to do. And when I get lonely, I count my whiskers."
"Oh!" said Dot. Then she inquired, curiously, "How many whiskers have you?"
"Well," answered the Watch-Dog of Merryland, confidentially, "there are either eighty-seven thousand four hundred and twenty-six, or else eighty-seven thousand four hundred and twenty-eight. Sometimes I make it one figure and sometimes the other, so I can't really tell which is right. I was engaged in counting my whiskers when I looked up and saw your boat. I had then counted sixty-nine thousand three hundred and fifty-four; but I was so surprised to see you that I missed the count, and now I shall have to begin all over again."
"I'm sorry," said Dot, sympathetically; "I'd like to know just which is the right number."
"If you will wait I'll count them," he replied, eagerly. "Perhaps then you can tell if I make a mistake."
"How long will it take?" she asked.
"I can do it in about four months."
"Oh, we couldn't possibly wait that long," declared the girl. "I really think we should be going now."