The dog went to him and licked the chubby hands and the soft cheek, as he had licked them that first day. With a secret look all about, Tommy began to work with the fastening of the chain, his tongue poking through his lips and wiggling. The spring was strong, the thumb that pressed feeble, numb with cold. Once it clicked, and Tommy bit down on his tongue, and the dog sprang forward. The fastening caught, the boy gasped—then frantically began to press.
"What're you doing there?"
He dropped the chain; both conspirators looked up with a jerk. Earle's face was poked over the banisters above them.
"Nuffin!" The lie was shiveringly spoken.
"Come in the house, sir."
The mother came out and caught the boy by the hand. Her face was distressed. She cast a pitying look at the dog; then she pulled his would-be rescuer away.
"Ain't he our dog?" pleaded Tommy.
"No, dearest, he belongs to Mrs. Lancaster."
"Well, I can take him a jink of water, can't I?"
"He doesn't want any water."