But Sammy came in whistling, with his cap very far back on his closely cropped head, and the usual mischievous grin on his face. Jock was at his heels and Billy Bumps immediately stopped and shook his head.
"Now, you send that dog right back, Sammy," commanded Tess. "You know Billy Bumps doesn't like him."
"Aw, I didn't know Jock was following me," explained Sammy, and he drove the bulldog out of the yard. But he failed to latch the gate, and Jock was too faithful to go far away.
Billy Bumps was still stamping his feet and shaking his head. Sam came up and began to rub his ears—an attention for which the goat did not care.
"Don't tease him, Sammy," begged Dot.
"Aw, I'm not," declared Sammy.
"He doesn't like that—you know he doesn't," admonished Tess.
"He ought to have gotten used to it by this time," Sammy declared. "Jinks! what's that?"
Unnoticed by the children, Sandyface, the old mother cat, had gravely walked down the path to the street gate. She was quite oblivious of the presence, just outside, of Jock, who crouched with the very tip of his red tongue poked out and looking just as amiable as it is ever possible for a bulldog to look.
Suddenly Jock spied Sandyface. The dog was instantly all attention—quivering muzzle, twitching ears, sides heaving, even his abbreviated tail vibrating with delighted anticipation. Jock considered cats his rightful prey, and Sammy was not the master to teach him better.