"Your mother won't care," asserted Vic.
"I know," she nodded, "but Daddy will."
"Spanking?"
She looked blankly at him.
"What will he do, then, if you come in to see me?"
"He'll look at me." She grew breathless at the thought, and cast a guilty
glance over her shoulder.
"Honey," chuckled Gregg, weakly, "I'll take all the blame. Just you come
along in and he'll do his lookin' at me."
He thought of the slender fellow who had rescued him and his large, gentle
brown eyes, but to a child even those mild eyes might seem terrible with
authority.
"Will you, true?" said the child, wistfully.
"Honest and true."
"All right." She made up her mind instantly, her face shining with
excitement. "Giddap, Bart." And she thumped the wolf-dog vigorously with
her heels.
He carried her in with a few gliding steps, soundless, except for the light
rattle of claws on the floor, but he stopped well out of reach of the bed
and when Vic held his left hand as far as he could across his chest, Bart
winced and gave harsh warning. Vic had seen vicious dogs in his day, seen
them fighting, seen them playing, but he had never heard one of them growl
like this.
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