"You're a trump, Beth. Good-bye."
She skipped back towards the house, revelling in her adventure now that it was over. Being called a trump by Harvey pleased her, but even this praise only half reconciled her for keeping any secret from her mother.
Halfway up the avenue, a homely, impudent, scraggy little dog, sprang from among the trees and yelped at Beth. A ragged little darky followed. Beth had never seen any human being quite so ragged.
"Come 'way, Fritz. What yo' mean by jumpin' on de missy?"
Beth eyed doubtfully both the dog and his master. The latter looked at her reassuringly.
"Yo' needn't be 'fraid, missy. I won't let Fritz hurt yo'."
"I—afraid—of him! He don't look as if he could harm anything," and Beth laughed.
The boy appeared grieved.
"Really, missy, he's a wonderful dog. I'll show yo' what he can do. Come, Fritz, dance for missy."
The ragged leader held up a warning finger. Fritz wagged his stubby tail, but did not budge.