Another wail arose from the wagon. Brown hastened to the rear of the vehicle, on the canvas side of which were painted the words “Henry G. Goodspeed, Groceries, Dry and Fancy Goods and Notions, Eastboro,” and peered in over the tailboard. The interior of the wagon was well nigh filled by a big box with strips of board nailed across its top. From between these strips a tawny nose was uplifted. As the helper stared wonderingly at the box and the nose, the boy sprang from his seat and joined him.
“That's him,” declared the boy. “Hi, there, Job, tune up now! What's the matter with ye?”
His answer was an unearthly howl from the box, accompanied by a mighty scratching. The boy laughed delightedly.
“Ain't he a wonder?” he demanded. “Ought to be in church choir, hadn't he.”
Brown stepped on the hub of a rear wheel, and, clinging to the post of the wagon cover, looked down into the box. The creature inside was about the size of a month old calf.
“It's a—it's a dog,” he exclaimed. “A dog, isn't it?”
“Sure, it's a dog. Or he'll be a dog when he grows up. Nothin' but a pup now, he ain't. Where's Seth?”
“Seth? Oh, Mr. Atkins; he's not here.”
“Ain't he? Where's he gone?”
“I don't know.”