“Why, that’s our dog!” cried the children.
“Is it? what is his name?”
“Something short.”
“Short? Is it Tip?”
“No, Aunt Fanny; something short.”
“Nip? Bip? Rip? Sap? Top?”
How they laughed as they said again, “Something short.”
Then I began to suspect the joke, and said, “Very well. I’ll fire one of my pop-guns at Mr. Something Short, the very first time I catch him chasing a cat, or rushing at cows’ noses to bite them.”
“Yes do, Aunt Fanny!” they answered. Then I got a good kiss and hug from each, and went back into the house.