“Here’s your pup, kid,” she growled, “an’ y’d best keep him from under my feet if you don’t want him stepped on.”
The cobbler smiled his slow, sweet smile.
“Peg’s heart’s bigger’n this house,” he murmured. “Bring him here, lassie.”
The girl, dog in arms, stood at the cobbler’s side.
“What’re you goin’ to name him?” asked Lafe, tenderly.
“I dunno, but he’s awful happy, now he’s going to stay with us.”
“Call ’im ‘Happy Pete’,” said the cobbler, smiling, “an’ we’ll take ’im into our club; shall we, kid?”
So Happy Pete was gathered that day into the bosom of the “Happy in Spite.”