The puppy pulled at the rope,
keeping it taut all the time. He also yelped shrilly. He did not like to
be tied. The puppy was not a pretty one, being yellow and very clumsy;
but Benjamin thought him a beauty. He had urged to his grandfather that
there would not be a dog to equal him in the neighborhood when he was
grown up, but the old man had not been moved.
There were tears in Benjamin's pretty blue eyes, but his square chin
looked squarer. He tried to speak again. "Grandsir--" he began.
"Not another word," said his grandfather.
Benjamin looked past his grandfather into the kitchen. His mother sat in
there stemming currants. He went around to the other door and entered,
dragging the puppy after him.
"Mother," he said, in a low voice, "can't I keep him?"
His grandfather in the east door looked around suspiciously, but he
could hear nothing; he was somewhat deaf.
"No; not if your grandfather don't want you to," said his mother; "you
know I can't let you, Benjamin."
The puppy was whining piteously, and Benjamin seemed to echo it when he
spoke. "I don't see why he don't want me to. It ain't as if Caesar was a
common puppy. You ask him, mother."
"No," returned his mother; "it won't do any good. You know how much he
thinks of Seventoes, and the dog might kill him when he was grown."
"Wouldn't care if he did," muttered Benjamin; "nothing but a cross old
stealing cat; don't begin to be worth what this puppy is.
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