Miss Clementina’s eyes seemed very wide indeed.
“But he’s not my dog at all,” she protested. “Isn’t he yours, Mr. Maclin?”
“I never laid eyes on him,” said Mr. Maclin, “until I moved here. The first time I saw him he was digging in your geranium bed.”
“Oh!” said Miss Clementina, and began to laugh.
“And to think,” she said, “of all the outrageous things he has done! And neither of us daring to say a word because we each thought he belonged to the other.”
Mr. Maclin laughed with her. “I think,” he said, “that from now on the little brown dog will have to reform.”
V.
But the little brown dog did not reform. With unabated cheerfulness he continued to dig in Miss Clementina’s geranium bed, and to chew Mr. Maclin’s doormat.
“He’s hungry,” said Miss Clementina; “you should give him more dog biscuits.”
“He has too much to eat,” retorted Mr. Maclin. “He digs holes in the geranium bed to bury the bones you give him.”