"I feel so sure of it," said she, confidently, "that I'm going to ask you to do me a favor. I want you to take care of Kerry for me. You know I'm going away to school next week, and--he can't stay at home when I'm not there. My father's away frequently, and he couldn't take Kerry about with him, of course. And he couldn't be left with the servants--somehow he doesn't like the colored people. He always growls at them, and they're afraid of him. And my mother dislikes dogs intensely--she's afraid of them, except those horrible little toy-things that aren't _dogs_ any more." The scorn of the real dog-lover was in her voice. "Kerry's used to the Parish House. He loves the Padre, he'll soon love you, and he likes to play with Pitache, so Madame wouldn't mind his being here. And--I'd be more satisfied in my mind if he were with somebody that--that needed him--and would like him a whole lot--somebody like you," she finished. Now, Mary Virginia regarded Kerry even as the apple of her eye. The dog was a noble and beautiful specimen of his race, thoroughbred to the bone, a fine field dog, and the pride of the child's heart. He was what only that most delightful of dogs, a thoroughbred Irish setter, can be. John Flint gasped. Something perplexed, incredulous, painful, dazzled, crept into his face and looked out of his eyes. "_Me_?" he gasped. "You mean you're willing to let me keep your dog for you? Yours?" "I want to _give_ him to you," said Mary Virginia bravely enough, though her voice trembled. "I am perfectly sure you'll love him--better than any one else in the world would, except me myself. I don't know why I know that, but I do know it. If you wanted to go away, later on, why, you could turn him over to the Padre, because of course you wouldn't want to have a dog following you about everywhere. They're a lot of bother. But--somehow, I think you'll keep him. I think you'll love him. He--he's a darling dog." She was too proud to turn her head aside, but two large tears rolled down her cheeks, like dew upon a rose. John Flint stood stock-still, looking from her to the dog, and back again. Kerry, sensing that something was wrong with his little mistress, pawed her skirts and whined. "Now I come to think of it," said John Flint slowly, "I never had anything--anything alive, I mean--belong to me before." Mary Virginia glanced up at him shrewdly, and smiled through her tears. Her smile makes a funny delicious red V of her lower lip, and is altogether adorable and seductive. "That's just exactly why you thought nobody was worth anything," she said. Then she bent over her dog and kissed him between his beautiful hazel eyes.