“Here he comes,” she cried, “and he is carrying something, and there’s somebody with him! Who do you s’pose it is? It is a boy, and he looks raggedy, and it’s a dog! I really think it’s a truly dog! Vic, where are you?” Sophy, in great excitement, ran from her post of observation and hurried down the stairs. The front door was thrown open, and Peter entered, tenderly carrying a good-sized yellow dog, whose leg was bound up and whose head lay limply upon his arm, and accompanied by a boy who, as Sophy had said, was “raggedy.” The four sisters gathered from different parts of the house and surveyed the newcomers, surprise mingled with disapprobation being unmistakably depicted on the countenances of all, with the exception, perhaps, of Sophy’s. “I want some witch hazel,” said Peter, “and some kind of an ointment or something. Vic, get it for me, will you? This dog’s leg is broken, and he has a lot of wounds. This is Dave Carney. He’s going to stay to tea.” “Peter!” said four voices. “Well,” said he, “what’s the matter?” “You look exactly as if you had been in a fight.” “So I have.” “Oh, Peter! But are you—are you going to fix the dog’s leg here?” “Oh, I’ll take him down to the barn, if you like. I suppose you will all make a terrible fuss, if I don’t. Isn’t he a nice dog? Some fellows were hurting him, but we floored ’em, Carney and I.” Carney, in the meantime, had retired to the least conspicuous position that he could find. He stood far back by the door, and he twirled his shabby cap in his hand, looking the while as though he would prefer to be in any place but that in which he found himself. Honor and Victoria, who were on the broad staircase, turned towards one another. Honor’s pretty eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, and her face said as plainly as though she had spoken, “What are we to do about it?” “I will get the witch hazel,” said Victoria, aloud, “and will bring it down to the barn. You and—and your friend had better take the dog down there now, Peter, and make a bed for him.” “Bring some old rags,” commanded Peter, “and something nice and soft for him to lie on. This would do,” he added, picking up a white chudda shawl which hung over the back of one of the hall chairs. “My best white shawl!” cried Katherine, springing forward just in time to rescue it before it was wrapped about the suffering animal. “What are you thinking of, Peter? Do take that dirty dog out of the house! I never saw such a boy.” Victoria, as she hurried up the stairs, sighed to herself. “Oh, dear!” she thought. “I am afraid Katherine will say just the wrong thing, and before we know it Peter will insist upon keeping the dog in the house, and having the boy at the supper-table. Where did he pick them up?” But Peter, whatever may have been his first impulse, decided that, after all, it would be the wiser course to repair to the barn, and here Victoria found him with his new friend, when she and Sophy followed with the remedies.