“Why, my dear little girl—­” John caught the child’s thin hands in a firm, warm grip.  She was trembling violently and her fingers twitched.  “This won’t do!  That’s what keeps the dark rings round your eyes, is it?  Of course you shan’t sleep alone!  How does school go?”

“Fine,” answered the child.  “I hate grammar and diagramming, but the rest is easy.”

“And what book are you reading now?”

“I’m starting ‘David Copperfield.’”

“Here comes your father.  It’s bedtime, isn’t it?  Good night, my dear.”

Lydia picked up Florence Dombey and went slowly off to bed as her father came in with a glass of water.

“That fool hen isn’t fully convinced she wants a family,” he said.

The bedroom door closed after Lydia.

“Amos,” said John, “that child’s nerves are all shot to pieces.”  He related his conversation with Lydia.

“What can I do?” asked Amos, with a worried air.  “Seems to me she’s just got to wear it out.  It’s awful hard she’s had to be up against these things—­but, I swan!—­”

Levine grunted and put on his hat.  “I wish she was my daughter,” he said.  “If you’ll ask Brown to come around to the Elks Club to-morrow, I’ll talk to him.”

Amos nodded and John mounted his bicycle and rode away.  On the Friday afternoon following when Lydia got home from school, she found the house apparently deserted.  But there issued from the neighborhood of the kitchen a yipping and ki-yi-ing that would have moved a heart of stone.  Lydia ran into the kitchen.  The puppy wails came from behind the door of the old bedroom.

“Who’s in there!” she called.

The yipping changed to deep barks of joy.  Lydia tried the door.  It opened easily and a great, blundering puppy hurled himself at her.  Lydia was a dog lover.

“You love!  You lamb!” she cried.  She squatted on the floor and the pup crowded his great hulk into her lap, licking her face and wagging his whole body.

There was a note tied to his collar.  Lydia untied it:  “Dearest Young Lydia:—­Here is a friend who wants to share your bedroom with you.  You must bring him up to be a polite, obedient dog, and a credit to your other friend, John Levine.”

“Oh!” squealed Lydia.  “Oh! but why did they tie you in here!” She looked about the room.  The old bed had been moved out and the dining-room couch moved in.  The bureau had been shifted to another corner.  There was nothing to be seen of all little Patience’s belongings.  It did not look like the same room.

As she clung to the squirming puppy and stared, Lizzie came in.

“Ain’t it nice?” she asked.  “Mr. Levine came out with the dog this afternoon and suggested the change.  He helped me.  We stored all the other things up in the attic.  See the old quilt in the corner?  That’s for the dog to sleep on.  Ain’t he as big as an elephant!  I’m afraid he’ll eat as much as a man.”