"
Dog Monday was the Ingleside dog, so called because he had come into the
family on a Monday when Walter had been reading Robinson Crusoe. He
really belonged to Jem but was much attached to Walter also. He was
lying beside Walter now with nose snuggled against his arm, thumping his
tail rapturously whenever Walter gave him an absent pat. Monday was not
a collie or a setter or a hound or a Newfoundland. He was just, as Jem
said, "plain dog"--very plain dog, uncharitable people added.
Certainly, Monday's looks were not his strong point. Black spots were
scattered at random over his yellow carcass, one of them, apparently,
blotting out an eye. His ears were in tatters, for Monday was never
successful in affairs of honour. But he possessed one talisman. He knew
that not all dogs could be handsome or eloquent or victorious, but that
every dog could love. Inside his homely hide beat the most affectionate,
loyal, faithful heart of any dog since dogs were; and something looked
out of his brown eyes that was nearer akin to a soul than any theologian
would allow. Everybody at Ingleside was fond of him, even Susan,
although his one unfortunate propensity of sneaking into the spare room
and going to sleep on the bed tried her affection sorely.
On this particular afternoon Rilla had no quarrel on hand with existing
conditions.
"Hasn't June been a delightful month?" she asked, looking dreamily afar
at the little quiet silvery clouds hanging so peacefully over Rainbow
Valley.
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