"Oh! certainly, by all means," said Crusoe--no! he didn't exactly
_say_ it, but really he _looked_ these words so evidently that we
think it right to let them stand as they are written. If he could have
finished the sentence, he would certainly have said, "Go on with that
game over again, old boy; it's quite to my taste--the jolliest thing
in life, I assure you!" At least, if we may not positively assert that
he would have said that, no one else can absolutely affirm that he
wouldn't.

Well, Dick Varley did do it over again, and Crusoe worried the mitten
over again, utterly regardless of "Fetch it."

Then they did it again, and again, and again, but without the
slightest apparent advancement in the path of canine knowledge; and
then they went home.

During all this trying operation Dick Varley never once betrayed the
slightest feeling of irritability or impatience. He did not expect
success at first; he was not therefore disappointed at failure.

Next day he had him out again--and the next--and the next--and the
next again, with the like unfavourable result. In short, it seemed at
last as if Crusoe's mind had been deeply imbued with the idea that he
had been born expressly for the purpose of worrying that mitten, and
he meant to fulfil his destiny to the letter.

Young Varley had taken several small pieces of meat in his pocket each
day, with the intention of rewarding Crusoe when he should at length
be prevailed on to fetch the mitten; but as Crusoe was not aware of