“I'll tell you what we'll do,” suggested Jimmy; “we'll trade you a baseball mask for him. My mama's going to give me a new mask 'cause I all time stay at home; so we'll trade you our old one. Go get it, Billy.”
Thus commanded Billy ran and picked up the bustle where it lay neglected on the grass and handed it to the quasi-owner of the puppy.
The deal was promptly closed and a little black negro went grinning down the street with Miss Minerva's old bustle tied across his face, leaving behind him a curly-haired dog.
“Ain't he sweet?” said Jimmy, hugging the fluffy white ball close to his breast, “we got to name him, Billy.”
“Le's name her Peruny Pearline,” was the suggestion of the other joint owner.
“He ain't going to be name' nothing at all like that,” declared Jimmy; “you all time got to name our dogs the scalawaggest name they is. He's going to be name' 'Sam Lamb' 'cause he's my partner.”
“She's a girl dog,” argued Billy, “an' she can't be name' no man's name. If she could I'd call her Major.”
“I don't care what sort o' dog he is, girl or boy, he's going to be name' 'Sam Lamb'!” and he fondly stroked the little animal's soft head.
“Here, Peruny! Here, Peruny!” and Billy tried to snatch her away.
The boys heard a whistle; the dog heard it, too. Springing from the little boy's arms Sam Lamb Peruny Pearline ran under the gate and flew to meet her master, who was looking for her.