Katy wrung the soapy cloth and attacked the upper sash.
"You've got the nose of a bloodhound," she observed. "I b'lieve
you'd smell molasses cookies half a mile."
Caroline sighed.
"I didn't mean them," she said. "I meant----"
"You'd better be at your lesson; your aunty'll be here in a minute
if she hears you talking, now!"
Katy was severe, but fundamentally friendly. Caroline groaned and
applied herself.
"Bounded 'n th' _south_ by Long Island _Sound_; bounded 'n th'
_south_ by Long Island _Sound_; bounded 'n th' _south_--oh, look!"
Up the neat flagged path of the side yard a spotted fox-terrier
approached, delicately erect upon his hind legs, his mouth spread in
cheerful smiles, his ears cocked becomingly. He paused, he waved a
salute, and as a shrill whistle from behind struck up a popular
tune, he waltzed accurately up to the side porch and back, retaining
to the last note his pleased if painstaking smile.
Caroline gasped delightedly; Katy's severity relaxed.
"That's a mighty cute little dog," she admitted.
Another shrill whistle, and the dog returned, limping on three legs,
his ears drooping, his stumpy tail dejected. He paused in the middle
of the walk, and at a sharp clap, as of two hands, he dropped limply
on his side, rolled to his back, and stiffened there pathetically,
his eyes closed.
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