“Whar’ yo’ chillen done git dat dawg?” he wanted to know, in astonishment.
“Oh, Uncle Rufus!” cried Dot. “He came along looking so wet——”
“And he was so tired and hungry,” added Tess.
“I done spec’ yo’ chillen would take in er wild taggar, ef one come erlong lookin’ sort o’ meachin’,” grumbled the colored man.
“But he’s so good!” said Tess. “See!” and she put her hand upon the handsome head of the bedraggled beast.
“He jes’ er tramp dawg,” said Uncle Rufus, doubtfully.
“He’s only tired and dirty,” said Tess, earnestly. “I don’t believe he wants to be a tramp. He doesn’t look at all like the tramps Mrs. MacCall feeds at the back door here.”
“Nor like those horrid Gypsies that came to the house the other day,” added Dot eagerly. “I was afraid of them.”
“Well, it suah ain’t b’long ’round yere—dat dawg,” muttered Uncle Rufus. “It done run erway f’om somewhar’ an’ hit trabbel far—ya-as’m!”
He pulled the ears of the big dog himself, in a kindly fashion, and the dog pounded the porch harder with his tail and rolled a trusting eye up at the little group. Evidently the tramp dog was convinced that this would be a good place to remain in, and “rest up.”