'I'm not afraid of anybody if I have Nobbles with me,' he said.
His father laughed again, then put him off his knee.
'I have letters to write. Run away now and play with True.'
So Bobby went, revolving many things in his mind. And an hour later, when he was getting tired of romping with True, he sat down on the grass underneath an apple-tree.
'I like Nobbles to be good,' he confided to True; 'but I'm 'fraid he can't be ind'pendent. He's plucky, he's afraid of nobody, and loves to give anyone a good beating; and he's quite, quite straight, so he's hon'rable, but he can't stand alone, or do things for himself.'
'Can't he? You give him to me. I'll make him stand up.'
True had seized hold of Nobbles and stuck him triumphantly two inches into the ground, where he stood smiling at them.
Bobby did not approve of this treatment.
'You're not to touch him. He doesn't belong to you.'
'He's only a stick!'