Patricia by Emilia [pseud.] Elliott
page 15 of 83 (18%)
page 15 of 83 (18%)
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since old Sampson died--"
Patricia beamed. "Then you will take him? And you won't mind if he's rather--lively? You see, he's so very young. Maybe, I'd better tell you everything." And sitting down on one end of the workbench, Patricia made full confession of her charge's misdoings. "But I think he's sorry," she ended, hopefully. "Sure, Miss," Carr assented; "especially as to the custard--that there wasn't more. What's his name, Miss?" "I don't know. I've called him just Dog." "I reckon he won't care what he's called, so long as you don't call him too late for dinner," Carr remarked. "How about Custard? It'd keep his sin afore him." He took a piece of rope from the floor. "I'd best tie him for a bit at first." It was half-past four when Patricia reached home. Sarah was upstairs and Aunt Julia busy with callers. Making a hasty raid on the pantry, Patricia slipped quietly up the back way to her own room. Aunt Julia had said it must be bed; and there was no particular use in waiting to be sent. She was just getting into bed, after a hurried bath, when Miss Kirby, having learned from certain unmistakable evidence that Patricia had returned, came upstairs. "Patricia!" she exclaimed, her voice expressing almost as much relief as |
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