The dog seemed to realize the conversation, for when the coal was ready to be moved, she was also ready, and hobbled on after the children.
“You must be tired, poor thing!” said Jimmie, taking her up as they crossed a muddy street, and thereby getting his torn jacket stained from her hurt back and bleeding foot.
The dog nestled up to him and seemed happy. When they reached home Jimmie ran ahead, showing his poor bruised friend to his mother.
“Why, Jimmie, what can you do with a dog?”
“Keep her to play with, and to guard the house when you are away washing.”
“I don’t know how we’ll feed her,” said Mrs. Conlon, who looked about as poor as the dog, “but we’ll try. We can keep her warm anyway if you’ll pick up enough coal.”
“We shall love her so,” said the boy, “and the baby will play with her when she gets well. Let’s call her ‘Pet,’ because we never have anything to play with.”
The dog crawled behind the stove and closed her eyes, as though thankful for a place to rest, where at least boys would not throw stones, and men would not kick her with their rough boots.
Days and weeks went by. The black dog, though not having a great supply of food, was living like a prince compared with the starvation of the street. Her bruises healed, her coat became blacker and her eyes brighter. She was indeed the baby’s pet, and the idol of the other children. She went with Annie and Jimmie as they gathered coal. She slept on the floor beside their humble bed at night, and guarded the household when the mother was absent. She shared their food, and would have returned their kindness with her life if need be. The whole family were happier and kinder since she came into it, as is always the case when a pet animal is in the home.