This portal to his brain had already been open for some days; but all the other doors were fast locked, and it required a great deal of careful picking to open them.
"Now, Crusoe, come here." Crusoe bounded clumsily to his master's side, cocked his ears, and wagged his tail,--so far his education was perfect.

We say he bounded _clumsily_, for it must be remembered that he was still a very young pup, with soft, flabby muscles.
"Now, I'm goin' to begin yer edication, pup; think o' that." Whether Crusoe thought of that or not we cannot say, but he looked up in his master's face as he spoke, cocked his ears very high, and turned his head slowly to one side, until it could not turn any farther in that direction; then he turned it as much to the other side; whereat his master burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and Crusoe immediately began barking vociferously.
"Come, come," said Dick, suddenly checking his mirth, "we mustn't play, pup, we must work." Drawing a leathern mitten from his belt, the youth held it to Crusoe's nose, and then threw it a yard away, at the same time exclaiming in a loud, distinct tone, "Fetch it." Crusoe entered at once into the spirit of this part of his training; he dashed gleefully at the mitten, and proceeded to worry it with intense gratification.

As for "Fetch it," he neither understood the words nor cared a straw about them.
Dick Varley rose immediately, and rescuing the mitten, resumed his seat on a rock.
"Come here, Crusoe," he repeated.
"Oh! certainly, by all means," said Crusoe--no! he didn't exactly _say_ it, but really he _looked_ these words so evidently that we think it right to let them stand as they are written.

If he could have finished the sentence, he would certainly have said, "Go on with that game over again, old boy; it's quite to my taste--the jolliest thing in life, I assure you!" At least, if we may not positively assert that he would have said that, no one else can absolutely affirm that he wouldn't.
Well, Dick Varley did do it over again, and Crusoe worried the mitten over again, utterly regardless of "Fetch it." Then they did it again, and again, and again, but without the slightest apparent advancement in the path of canine knowledge; and then they went home.
During all this trying operation Dick Varley never once betrayed the slightest feeling of irritability or impatience.

He did not expect success at first; he was not therefore disappointed at failure.
Next day he had him out again--and the next--and the next--and the next again, with the like unfavourable result.