another black and white puppy lay abandoned in the roadway.
"Certainly, we'll pick it up," said Bobby indignantly. "Do you suppose we're going to go past a dog and let it die in the rain? Bring it here, please, Carter."
The old man got down stiffly and picked up the dog. This time he handed over a second handkerchief with a ludicrous air of "take-it-and-ruin-it."
"That's the last handkerchief I have with me, Miss Bobby," he announced feelingly, watching his young mistress mopping water and mud from the rescued puppy.
"Well, there won't be any more puppies, Carter," Bobby assured him cheerfully.
But they had not gone twenty rods when they found another, and, after that, a few rods further on, a fourth.
"Here's where we use our own handkerchiefs," giggled Bobby. "And what are we going to do with a car full of dogs?"
The problem was solved, however, before they crossed the bridge into Washington. On the hill leading to the bridge they overtook a small colored boy weeping bitterly. Bobby signaled Carter to stop, and leaning out asked the child what the matter was.
"I done lost my dawgs!" he sobbed. "We-all