“I held my head up, walked high and pricked my ears as we went down the street, being often gratified by remarks from passing ladies and children, ‘What a stylish dog! What a pretty creature! What a clean little fox-terrier!’
“When we got back to the hotel the ladies sitting knitting on the veranda called out, ‘Why, Mrs. Martin—where did you get that dog?’
“She smiled and told them about the night before, and one dear old lady, when she finished said, ‘I believe my grandchildren would like to have it.’
“My ears went down like a spaniel’s, and I pressed myself against Mrs. Martin’s dress. I had suffered much from the hands of children that I loved. How could I let myself be mauled by children that I did not love?
“Mrs. Martin heard me moaning, and gave me a sympathetic look, but said nothing.
“How I tried to please her the next few days! I ate nicely and not greedily, and if she went out of the room I left my choicest big beef bone to follow her. If we were out walking I kept closely at her heels and did not speak to a single
dog we met. If she put me in her room and said she was going to see her sick sister, I wagged my tail and tried to look cheerful.
“The day after she found me I had discovered that Mrs. Martin was far away from her own home and she had come to New Rochelle to be with her younger sister who lived there and had been quite ill.
“In my anxiety to please her I grew quite sad faced, as I saw in the cheval glass. I wished her to be my new owner, for I had given up all thought of returning the few miles to the Bronx, as I knew Antonio would keep his word and shoot me.
“Mrs. Martin said nothing at first to reassure me, but sometimes she took me on her lap and rocked me. That did not look like giving me away, and one day I ventured to whimper and laid a paw on her arm.