Nothing could really depress this spirited girl for long, and she was always doing some interesting thing to create a little excitement.
"If she hadn't bought a twenty-five cent pup for two dollars," remarked the Major, "she might have brought home an orphan from the gutters, or a litter of tomcats, or one of the goats that eat the tin cans at Harlem.

Perhaps, after all, we should be thankful it's only--what's his name ?" "Mumbles," said Patsy, merrily.

"The boy said they called him that because he mumbled in his sleep.

Listen!" Indeed, the small waif by the fire was emitting a series of noises that seemed a queer mixture of low growls and whines--evidence unimpeachable that he had been correctly named.
At Patsy's shout of laughter, supplemented by Uncle John's chuckles and a reproachful cough from the Major, Mumbles awakened and lifted his head.

It may be an eye discovered the dining-table in the next room, or an intuitive sense of smell directed him, for presently the small animal came trotting in--still traveling "cornerwise"-- and sat up on his hind legs just beside Patsy's chair.
"That settles it," said the Major, as his daughter began feeding the dog.