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Miss Terry amended the phrase under her breath. It seemed so natural to use Tom's word. "Yes, the Flanton Dog," the Angel smiled. "What do you think became of him?" "I saw what became of him," said Miss Terry. "Bob Cooper threw him under an automobile, and he was crushed flatter than a pancake." "Then you left the window," said the Angel. "In your human way you assumed that this was the end.
Hardly had Miss Terry time to conceal herself behind the curtain when she saw a figure approaching, airily waving a stick. "No ragamuffin this time," she said. "Hello! It is that good-for-nothing young Cooper fellow from the next block. They say he is a millionaire. Well, he isn't even going to see the Flanton Dog." The young man came swinging along, debonairly; he was whistling under his breath.
Once more she saw the mantel-shelf before her and the Christmas Angel with outstretched arms waving to and fro. "You see!" he said. "You did not guess all the pleasure that was shut up in that box with old Jack, did you?" Miss Terry shook her head. "And you see how different it all was from what you thought. Now let us see what became of the Canton-flannel dog." "The Flanton Dog."
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