“Warm milk, wouldn’t you, Harriet?” asked Mrs. Horton. “And then, if it drinks it, we’ll put it in a box with a bit of clean flannel over it and let it sleep. I don’t believe it is much more than a puppy.”
Soon the little dog had gratefully lapped up the warm milk Harriet brought it, and had been put in a comfortable box and warmly covered. The storm was quite over, and the sun was shining out again.
“Can we keep him?” asked Sunny Boy, changing his shoes which had got wet in his trip to rescue the dog. “May I have him to play with, Mother?”
“Why, dear, it is in all likelihood some one’s pet,” explained Mrs. Horton. “If you lost your pet dog, think how you would feel till you found it. We must make inquiry among the cottages to find if any one has lost a dog, and we’ll pin a notice up on the post-office bulletin, too. I don’t want you to get too attached to the dog, for I am sure its owner will soon claim it. But, of course, till that happens, you may play with it as much as you like.”
Sunny Boy went down to the beach before supper and found that the storm had carried away part of the fishing pier. The waves were higher than usual and the wet sand made walking difficult. He met Ralph and told him about the dog.
“He can play with Queen,” Ralph suggested. “What are you going to call him?”
Sunny Boy had not thought of naming the dog, because he thought of course it was already named by the person who had lost it. But Ralph did not agree, and said:
“The dog can’t talk and tell you who he is. He needs a name as much as ever, and I think, Sunny, that you should give him a name to go by till his own is learned.”
“All right then, call him Curly,” suggested Sunny Boy. “He has long, curly hair. Mother says she is going to wash him, and then he’ll be pure white. Maybe she will let him sleep with me.”
But Mrs. Horton, questioned on the subject that night, did not approve of dogs sleeping on nice, white beds.