“Girls,” Ruth, who was sweeping the porch, put her head in the door, “there’s a boy here who wants to know if we’d like some fresh fish.”
Various exclamations sounding up-stairs and down, indicated that the proposition was a welcome one, and Peggy stepped out of the back door to interview the dealer. A boy in nondescript costume, with a brimless straw hat on the back of his head, held up a string of fish without speaking.
“Yes, I think I’ll like them if they’re fresh and cheap,” said Peggy firmly, resolved to be business-like.
It appeared that the fish had been caught that morning and the price impressed Peggy as extremely reasonable. She was about to conclude the bargain when Priscilla’s echoing whisper summoned her to the screen door.
“Peggy, tell him we’ll buy fish of him several times a week if he’ll clean them. Fish scales are so messy and awful.”
Peggy thought well of the proposition, and the young fisherman offered no objection. With a grunt of acquiescence he seated himself on the steps, pulled out his pocket knife and began operations. Then as Hobo took his stand where he could view proceedings, the boy turned abruptly to Peggy. She saw that his brown eyes were keen, and his features clear-cut. “Why, if he’d only fix up a little,” she thought with surprise, “he’d be quite nice looking.”
“That your dog?” the boy was demanding, and Peggy hesitated, then laughed as she remembered her conversation with Priscilla.
“He seems to think so,” she acknowledged. “He followed me home last night, and he doesn’t have any intention of going away, as far as anybody can see.”
“That dog hasn’t had a square deal,” said the boy with sudden heat. “Dogs don’t have as a rule, but this one’s worse off than most. He used to belong to some folks who lived on the Drierston pike, raised him from a puppy they had, and he saved one of the kids from drowning, one time. More fool he, I say.”
Peggy gasped an expostulation. The boy silenced her with a vindictive gesture of the hand that held the knife.