ng over to see you, mother. She says she wants
to ask you something, anyway." Peter went to the door, gave a sharp
whistle, a sharper direction and returned. "Jerry's out there. Graham
Bartlett's opened up his house, and David's brought my dog back."

Still Peter's dog, you see. "Oh, I want to see Jerry, may he come in,
mother?" Suzanna asked.

Mrs. Procter nodded. She was now engaged in giving the four-year-old his
ten o'clock luncheon of bread and milk. "But don't let him get into
anything, Peter," she admonished.

Peter promised, with a sigh in his heart for the tenacious prejudices
of woman. Jerry at a word entered the kitchen door. He came in slowly,
paused and regarded Mrs. Procter searchingly. He was a handsome animal
now. His coat was well brushed, his hair long and glossy.

"Well," said Mrs. Procter, "you've been taught good manners, Jerry."

He wagged his tail vigorously; then further to show himself off, he sat
down and held out a beguiling paw to Mrs. Procter. Maizie cried out in
delight.

"Oh, can't we keep him now, mother? Isn't he cunning?"

Peter turned quickly upon his sister. "Would that be fair?" he sternly
asked. His voice deepened suddenly. "You wouldn't, any one of you, even
look at him when he was poor and dirty and _afraid_. And now after David
has loved him and washed him and taught him how to behave, you want to
keep him. Come along, Jerry."

Having thus delivered himself, Peter, with dignity, stalked from out the
kitchen. He left an eloquent silence behind him. "Should we have kept
the dog when he was dirty and lonely, mother?" asked Maizie,
interestedly.

"Why, I don't think so, Maizie," Mrs. Procter answered slowly. "Really,
you remember I'd had so much trouble that summer with stray dogs of
Peter's that my patience was at an end."

Maizie was forming another question when she was interrupted by a hearty
knock at the door.

"Come in," Suzanna cried. She was testing the oven as her mother had
taught her and she turned a very important, if badly flushed, face to
the visitor.

"I'm baking a chocolate cake, Mrs. Reynolds," she announced.

"Fine, Suzanna," cried Mrs. Reynolds heartily. She advanced to the
middle of the kitchen. Two beautiful children both with large dark eyes
and dark curls, exquisitely clean, followed her.

Mrs. Reynolds was a little plumper, and with a softness in her eyes
which seemed of recent growth. She lifted the smaller child, the girl,
upon a kitchen ch