When they reached there Dicky gazed at the pool in dismay.
“There ithn’t any water in it,” he objected, shaking his head doubtfully.
“We can reach it with the hose and fill it up in no time,” his cousin explained.
“It’ll run out of the hole,” pointing to the hole made by the broomstick when the concrete was soft.
“We’ll put a plug in the hole.”
“He hasn’t any log to sit on.”
“Roger will find him a stick.”
“I don’t want to leave him here all alone,” screamed Dicky, overcome by a renewal of his former misgivings. Casting himself on the ground he hugged his treasure to his breast and waved his legs in the air.
“You can take him back again if you want to,” Ethel Brown reminded him, “but you know he’s always getting into trouble with the chickens now. He seems to run away every day.”
As the memory of the latest encounter between Christopher and the chicks with Elisabeth’s overthrow, flashed before him, Dicky howled again. There seemed to be no haven on earth for his favorite.