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 . `` Has n't June been a delightful month ? '' she asked , looking dreamily afar at the little quiet silvery clouds hanging so peacefully over Rainbow Valley . `` We 've had such lovely times -- and such lovely weather . It has just been perfect every way . '' `` I do n't half like that , '' said Miss Oliver , with a sigh . `` It 's ominous -- somehow . A perfect thing is a gift of the gods -- a sort of compensation for what is coming afterwards .
I 've seen that so often that I do n't care XXXXX hear people say they 've had a perfect time .
Inside as at because beside for in since that to