Mother hates dogs. She never would have one in the house,
though I've always wanted a dog of my own. I knew Liz would call him a
horrid little monster, and Fred would poke fun at me--and, oh, dear! I'd
rather have gone to the dentist's or taken a Saturday-night scrub than
go into that dining-room with Grip at my heels.
"'But it had to be done. They were all at supper, and mother took it
just as I was afraid she would. If she only would have waited and let
me tell how I came by the dog, I thought maybe she would have felt sorry
for the poor thing; but she was in such a hurry to get his muddy feet
off the dining-room carpet that she wouldn't listen to a single word I
said, but kept saying, "Turn him out! turn him out!" till I found it was
no use, and I was just going to do as she said when father looked up
from his supper, and says he: "Let the boy tell his story, mother. Where
did you get the dog, Tommy?" "'We were all surprised, for father hardly
ever interfered with mother about us children--he's so taken up with
business, you know, he hasn't any time left for the family. But I was
glad enough to tell him how I came by the dog; and he laughed, and said
he didn't see any objection to my keeping him over night.
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