“Sure, Miss,” Carr assented; “especially as to the custard—­that there wasn’t more.  What’s his name, Miss?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve called him just Dog.”

“I reckon he won’t care what he’s called, so long as you don’t call him too late for dinner,” Carr remarked.  “How about Custard?  It’d keep his sin afore him.”  He took a piece of rope from the floor.  “I’d best tie him for a bit at first.”

It was half-past four when Patricia reached home.  Sarah was upstairs and Aunt Julia busy with callers.

Making a hasty raid on the pantry, Patricia slipped quietly up the back way to her own room.  Aunt Julia had said it must be bed; and there was no particular use in waiting to be sent.

She was just getting into bed, after a hurried bath, when Miss Kirby, having learned from certain unmistakable evidence that Patricia had returned, came upstairs.

“Patricia!” she exclaimed, her voice expressing almost as much relief as displeasure, “where have you been?”

Patricia moved restlessly.  “I’ve been—­everywhere!”

“Sarah has ransacked the entire neighborhood.”  Displeasure was fast becoming the dominant note in Miss Kirby’s voice now that Patricia was safe in bed before her.  “Of course you understand,” she began.

Patricia raised a small, flushed face.  “Please, Aunt Julia, I’m in bed—­and you didn’t have to send me.  I’ve had a most fatiguing day; and I’m dreadfully afraid that if you start in to talk to me the ’Kirby temper’’ll make me say something back.”

Miss Kirby sat down, surveying her niece in silence for a moment.  Patricia had frankly stated a quite undeniable fact; and she had no desire to put the matter to the test.  “Very well,” she said, presently, “we will wait until to-morrow morning.”

“But that would be ever so much worse,” Patricia pleaded.  “I do so hate waiting for things.  I thought—­maybe—­if I went straight to bed—­you’d skip the—­talk part, this time.  I’m very tired; finding a home for a dog takes it out of you a lot.  People ’round here don’t seem very anxious to have dogs.  And—­I went considerably beyond bounds—­so I’ve got Daddy to settle with yet.  All the same, I did find him a home, Aunt Julia—­I haven’t got that on my mind.”

Miss Kirby rose, and going over to the bed bent and kissed the tired, wistful face.  Patricia had a fashion of exciting sympathy at the wrong time, in a way that was perilous to discipline.  “For this time, then, Patricia,” she said.  “Now I must go downstairs.”

Left to herself, Patricia suddenly remembered that there was to be strawberry shortcake for supper.  Oh, dear, if only Custard had chosen any other day to drift across her path!  A sent-to-bed bed-supper meant simply bread and milk.  Patricia wondered if Dr. Vail would mind about not having custard as much as she did about not having strawberry shortcake.  She decided that when she was grown up and had little girls of her own she’d never send them to bed early on strawberry shortcake night.