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.
"If Aunt Julia could see you _now_! Why didn't I do all this first?
But--well, Aunt Julia's made up her mind; and she isn't exactly the
changey kind.
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