“Why, it’s Tommy!” exclaimed Laura Belding. “Whatever is the the matter, Tommy?” for the little fellow was crying softly.
He was a most cherubic looking child, with a pink and white face, yellow curls that swept the clean collar of his shirt-waist, and a plump, “hug-able” little body. 37
“Yes, what is the matter, dear?” begged Jess Morse.
“H-he’s gone an’ cut off th-the tails of the pu-puppies,” sobbed Master Tommy, his breast heaving.
“Who has?” demanded Laura.
“He. That man what co-comed here,” choked the little fellow.
“What a pity! I’m awfully sorry,” Laura pursued, soothingly. “The poor little puppies.”
“Ye-yes. Pa s-said I should chop ’em off myself!” concluded Master Tommy in a burst of anger.
“My goodness me!” gasped Jess, horror-stricken. “Will you hear that boy talk? He’s a perfect little savage.”
“No, he isn’t,” said Mother Wit, shaking her head. “He’s only a boy—that’s all. You never had a brother, Jess.”