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 to hear people say they 've had a perfect time . June has been delightful , though . '' `` Of course , it has n't been very exciting , '' said Rilla . `` The only exciting thing that has happened in the Glen for a year was old Miss Mead fainting in Church . Sometimes I wish something dramatic would happen once in a while . ''
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