"About a year. He was given to me when he was just a little puppy."

"And how old are you, son?"

"Ten my last birthday, but I'm so big for my age I wear 'leven-year-old
suits."

Now the Towncrier hadn't intended to stop, but the dog began burrowing
its head ecstatically against him, and there was something in the boy's
lonesome, dirty little face which appealed to him, and the next thing he
knew he was sitting on the bottom step of the Green Stairs with Georgina
beside him, telling the most thrilling pirate story he knew. And he told
it more thrillingly than he had ever told it before. The reason for this
was he had never had such a spellbound listener before. Not even Justin
had hung on each word with the rapt interest this boy showed. His dark
eyes seemed to grow bigger and more luminous with each sentence, more
intense in their piercing gaze. His sensitive mouth changed expression
with every phase of the adventure--danger, suspense, triumph. He scarcely
breathed, he was listening so hard.

Suddenly the whistle at the cold-storage plant began to blow for noon,
and the old man rose stiffly, saying:

"I'm a long way from home, I should have started back sooner."

"Oh, but you haven't finished the story!" cried the boy, in distress at
this sudden ending. "It _couldn't_ stop there."

Georgina caught him by the sleeve of the old blue jacket to pull him back
to the seat beside her.