aren't very good looking. I don't see why that saying Aunt Julia is so
fond of--about 'Handsome is as handsome does'--shouldn't apply to dogs
as well as people. All the same, you are a very mixed numbery sort of
a dog: you've got one and three-quarters ears, three and one-half
legs,--at least you don't use that front paw very much,--and half a
tail; and your hair is rather--patchy. But inside, I'm sure you're all
right. And you have _beautiful_ eyes; _they're_ all there, too."

The dog blinked back at her soberly, wagging his abbreviated tail in
apologetic fashion.

"You've simply got to have a home," Patricia went on; "and it's up to me
to find you one. But I think you'll have to have a bath first, and your
paw bandaged."

Jumping up, Patricia darted back to the house, and around to the side
door, leading to her father's office. Presently, she reappeared with a
cake of antiseptic soap, a box of salve, a roll of bandage, a pair of
scissors, and a bath-towel; with these gathered up in the skirt of her
frock she led the way down to the brook, followed by a most unsuspecting
small dog.

Ten minutes later that same small dog--decidedly sadder and wetter, if
not wiser--lay shivering on the sunny bank, while Patricia rubbed him
vigorously with one of her aunt's largest bath-towels.

Then the cut paw was salved and bandaged, and the most hopelessly
tangled knots of curls cut away. After which, Patricia, sitting back on
heels, studied her charge approvingly.