Patricia's work. "Not a bad job for an eleven-year-old, Pat."

"I could do it better, only I had to make a strip from a piece I found
in Aunt Julia's scrap-bag," Patricia explained.

"Patricia!" Miss Kirby exclaimed from the doorway, "your dress is only
half buttoned, and your hair is--_Patricia Kirby_, have you gone
and hunted up another dog!"

"It's the same one, Aunt Julia. He has improved a lot, hasn't he? If
you'd seen how glad he was to see me! I suppose he'll have to be sent
back. Cæsar likes him pretty well; he didn't growl at him once when I
introduced them to each other."

"It's a question whether _sending_ back will do any good," the
doctor said. He was watching the two on the steps.

Patricia stroked the bandaged paw gently. "I can't take him--I can't go
out of the yard, can I, Daddy?"

"Decidedly not."

"Couldn't you take him in the gig with you, Patrick?" Miss Kirby felt
that she was playing a losing game.

"Going quite in the opposite direction."

"And Jim?"

"Goes with me." The doctor was still studying the two on the steps.