dog with her, the two old gentlemen had been feeling dreary enough.

Patsy always livened things up. Nothing could really depress this
spirited girl for long, and she was always doing some interesting
thing to create a little excitement.

"If she hadn't bought a twenty-five cent pup for two dollars,"
remarked the Major, "she might have brought home an orphan from the
gutters, or a litter of tomcats, or one of the goats that eat the
tin cans at Harlem. Perhaps, after all, we should be thankful it's
only--what's his name?"

"Mumbles," said Patsy, merrily. "The boy said they called him that
because he mumbled in his sleep. Listen!"

Indeed, the small waif by the fire was emitting a series of noises
that seemed a queer mixture of low growls and whines--evidence
unimpeachable that he had been correctly named.

At Patsy's shout of laughter, supplemented by Uncle John's chuckles
and a reproachful cough from the Major, Mumbles awakened and lifted
his head. It may be an eye discovered the dining-table in the next
room, or an intuitive sense of smell directed him, for presently the
small animal came trotting in--still traveling "cornerwise"--and sat
up on his hind legs just beside Patsy's chair.

"That settles it," said the Major, as his daughter began feeding the
dog. "Our happy home is broken up."

"Perhaps not," suggested Uncle John, reaching out to pat the soft head