“Your Gray Lady’s name don’t begin with a D. It’s plain as the nose on your face who it’s meant for,” he answered, promptly.
“Then if it is really mine—how lovely!—I’ll just call it Snowball.”
“Pshaw, Dolly Doodles! If I had a lamb sent to me by a poor lost feller like Jim, I’d name it after him and not so silly like that. Do call it Jim, junior,” argued Alfy.
“Yes, sissy, but—but it ain’t that kind of a lamb,” observed the Captain, siding with his favorite at once.
Molly giggled and even Helena smiled, but Alfy simply pouted.
“Huh! Well, then if Jim won’t do, call her Jiminetta—that’d be after me and him, too, same’s I’m Alfaretta.”
Dorothy laughed, too, now, and stopped studying the rude letters traced on the cover and the stone. They but deepened the mystery of Jim’s disappearance and present whereabouts. She remarked:
“We don’t often enough take time to say your whole name, child. It’s generally ‘Alfy.’ Let’s compromise and call our lamb Netty.”
“Good enough! And if the little creatur’ takes after most Colorady folks or flocks, she won’t care a mite what name she has so she ain’t called late to dinner. Haw, haw, haw!”
Laughing at his own ancient witticism, Captain Lem started houseward with “Netty” in his arms, the little thing nestling down in them as if it knew it had found a friend. But his face was troubled. He didn’t like this secret signal from the missing James and he liked less the fact that the lad’s messenger had been a small Indian. However, this seemed a small matter to what was awaiting him, as Mr. Ford came toward him, walking rapidly, and, apparently, in deep thought.