"The sooner he runs out of my sight, the better for him," Mrs Miller
declared, warmly. "If he don't get started mighty quick I'll help him
along a bit with a broom handle."

Patricia drew herself up. "I--I think I'll be going."

"But, Patricia," Mrs. Miller called after her, "what was that about a
present? Something your aunt sent?"

"No, Aunt Julia didn't send him. I brought you a--a dog, Mrs. Miller."

"_That_ little nuisance! Well, well, of all--"

Patricia waited to hear no more; not until she was some distance up the
road did she turn to her charge, limping ostentatiously in the rear.

"That was another bad first impression, Dog! It wasn't my fault this
time. Really, I'm very much ashamed of you."

Dog sat down, holding up a bandaged paw. His whole dejected little body
expressed penitence of the deepest dye.

Patricia softened. "I'm not so sure whether, after all, you would have
liked it at the Millers'. I'm a good deal disappointed in Mrs. Miller,
myself."

She sat down on the grass beside the road to rearrange the loosened
bandage. "Puppies will be puppies, I suppose. Daddy says you must always
take the intention into consideration--and I don't suppose you
_intended_ to be bad. It's dreadfully easy to be bad, without