'What sort of dog is it?' asked Edith.
'Come and look at it. It isn't any particular _sort_. It's just a dog.'
'But, my dear boy, you're going to school the day after tomorrow, and
you can't take it with you.'
'I know; but I'll teach Dilly to look after it.'
It was a queer, rough, untidy-looking creature; it seemed harmless
enough; a sort of Dobbin in _Vanity Fair_ in the canine world.
'It's an inconsistent dog. Its face is like a terrier's, and its tail
like a sort of spaniel,' said Archie. 'But I think it might be trained
to a bloodhound.'
'You do, do you? What use would a bloodhound be to Dilly?'
'Well, you never know. It might be very useful.'
'I'm afraid there's not room in the house for it.'
'Oh, Mother!' both the children cried together. 'We _must_ keep it!'
'Was it lost?' she asked.
Archie frowned at Dilly, who was beginning to say, 'Not exactly.'
'Tell me how you got it.'
'It was just walking along, and I took its chain. The chain was dragging
on the ground.'
'You stole it,' said Dilly.
Archie flew at her, but Edith kept him back.
'Stole it! I didn't! Its master had walked on and evidently didn't care
a bit about it, poor thing.
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