The dog assured her that it was.
"I don't know what we're going to do next," Patricia told him. And
once back on the main road, she came to a standstill. She couldn't take
her protege home; even less could she desert him. She sat down by the
roadside to consider the matter--to consider various other matters, as
well. Even with Patricias there comes the moment of reckoning.
Aunt Julia had said that the next time she evaded sewing-lesson she must
go to bed at five o'clock. Patricia stretched out her tired little legs;
at the present moment that particular form of punishment did not appear
very unendurable. Just now, however, it seemed doubtful if she would be
at home by five o'clock.
Also, Daddy had said that the next time she broke bounds in this way
he should be obliged to punish her. Patricia fanned herself with a
decidedly dingy pocket-handkerchief; she wished Daddy had
said--_how_.
"I'm not saying you're not a very nice dog," Patricia patted her
companion, curled up on the folds of her short skirts; "still, if
I hadn't met you this morning--"
The dog blinked sleepily, licking her hand. Perhaps he was thinking of
a poor, forlorn little animal who had until that morning been hunted and
driven, half starved, never caressed.
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