"Oh, but he won't
let me!" says she.
"Who won't let you?" says I, keeping my eye on Nolan, and growling a
bit nasty, just to show I was meaning to have my way. "Why, Wyndham
Kid," says she, looking up at the name on my kennel.
"But I'm Wyndham Kid!" says I.
"You!" cries mother. "You! Is my little Kid the great Wyndham Kid the
dogs all talk about?" And at that, she, being very old, and sick, and
hungry, and nervous, as mothers are, just drops down in the straw and
weeps bitter.
Well, there ain't much more than that to tell. Miss Dorothy, she
settled it.
"If the Kid wants the poor old thing in the stables," says she, "let
her stay."
"You see," says she, "she's a black-and-tan, and his mother was a
black-and-tan, and maybe that's what makes Kid feel so friendly
toward her," says she.
"Indeed, for me," says Nolan, "she can have the best there is. I'd
never drive out no dog that asks for a crust nor a shelter," he says.
"But what will Mr. Wyndham do?"
"He'll do what I say," says Miss Dorothy, "and if I say she's to
stay, she will stay, and I say--she's to stay!"
And so mother and Nolan, and me, found a home. Mother was scared at
first--not being used to kind people--but she was so gentle and
loving, that the grooms got fonder of her than of me, and tried to
make me jealous by patting of her, and giving her the pick of the
vittles.
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