“Why, he is the nice British dog with the honest bark,” said Nina. “Captain Fordyce introduced him to me, so he is all right.”
“Good dogs sometimes have to suffer for the sins of bad ones,” said Miss Marsden, composedly. “Nevertheless, I have confidence in your husband in every way. He is said to be the best captain on this line, and he has certainly brought us admirably through this gale.”
“What do you call a good dog?” inquired Nina, with a gentle questioning air.
“A good dog is one that is clever, watchful, and that does exactly what I tell him.”
“Just what I call a good dog,” said Nina, triumphantly; “not a snapping cross creature, always heading you off, and driving you where you don’t want to go.”
“Take into account what you are, though,” said Miss Marsden, sharply. “Suppose you are a bad, wandering lammie with a proclivity for rushing into briers and thorns?”
“Wouldn’t I feel them?” asked Nina, warmly. “Wouldn’t they scratch me and make me back out?”
“But you might lose some wool.”
“Well, that wouldn’t matter to the dog.”
“It would mean loss of prestige to him.”