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.

"Kerry, dear," said she, "Kerry, dear Kerry, you don't belong to me
any more. I--I've got to go away to school--and you know you wouldn't
be happy at home without me. You belong to Mr. Flint now, and I'm sure
he needs you, and I know he'll love you almost as much as I do, and
he'll be very, very good to you. So you're to stay with him,
and--stand by him and be his dog, like you were mine. You'll remember,
Kerry? Good-by, my dear, dear, darling dog!" She kissed him again,
patted him, and thrust his collar into his new owner's hand.

"Go--good-by, everybody!" said she, in a muffled voice, and ran. I
think she would have cried childishly in another moment; an