"For that bit of rags and meat?" asked the Major, looking at the puppy
with disfavor. "Twenty-five cents would be exorbitant."

"The man misjudged me," observed Patsy, with a merry laugh that
matched her twinkling blue eyes. "In the end he got just two
dollars for Mumbles, and when I came away he bade me good-bye very
respectfully. The boy howled. He hasn't any dog to kick and is
broken-hearted. As for Mumbles, he's going to lead a respectable life
and be treated like a dog."

"Do you mean to keep him?" inquired the Major.

"Why not?" said Patsy. "Don't you like him, Daddy?"

Her father turned Mumbles over with his toe. The puppy lay upon its
back, lazily, with all four paws in the air, and cast a comical glance
from one beady bright eye at the man who had disturbed him.

The Major sighed.

"He can't hunt, Patsy; he's not even a mouser."

"We haven't a mouse in the house."

"He's neither useful nor ornamental. From the looks o' the beast he's
only good to sleep and eat."

"What's the odds?" laughed Patsy, coddling Mumbles up in her arms.
"We don't expect use or ornamentation from Mumbles. All we ask is his
companionship."