waving her apron frantically.

On the grass spread out to bleach, lay one of Mrs. Miller's best
tablecloths; and in the middle of the cloth Mrs. Miller's present was
rolling and twisting his damp, dusty little self, uttering all the while
short, sharp little barks of satisfaction.

But he was on his feet before any one could reach him, and with one
corner of the cloth caught in his mouth, had run gayly away.

"Head that dog off, Patricia!" Mrs. Miller screamed. "What dog is it,
anyway--mischievous, good-for-nothing little scamp? He doesn't belong
about here! Ten to one, he followed you in. I never knew such a child
for taking up with stray dogs!"

After several strenuous moments the cloth was rescued. "Is it hurt very
much?" Patricia asked, anxiously.

Mrs. Miller held it up; one of the corners was torn and frayed rather
badly, and the whole cloth was covered with grass-stains and dirt.
"You can see for yourself," she said wrathfully; "and it a _new_
cloth--never used yet!"

"But it'll wash, won't it?" Patricia suggested. "And the torn part won't
show when it's on the table; and it won't show when it's folded up in
the drawer." She stooped to lay a restraining hand on the wrongdoer, who
already had an eye on various other articles scattered about the grass.
"I wouldn't have thought he could run so, with a lame paw, would you,
Mrs. Miller?"