“Sell Rusty, Uncle Phin! Sell my dear little dog! Why, I’d starve first.”
“Dats it! Dats jes de way I knowed ’t would be,” said the old man, shaking his head sadly. “Well, dars dat ar book ob yourn. We mighter——”
“My precious book, that the beautiful lady gave me!” cried the boy. “Why, Uncle Phin, that’s worse than Rusty. I wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world; not even for a great heaping plate of hot buckwheat cakes, with maple syrup on them.”
“Or a fat possum roasted in a hole in de groun?” suggested the old man, his mouth watering at the thought.
“No, nor a beefsteak with baked sweet potatoes, and hot rolls,” said the boy, who, under the circumstances, was certainly placing a high value on his book.
“Or a big dish er hominy smoking frum de kittle wif a plenty er pok gravy,” added Uncle Phin eagerly, unable to conceive of anything more likely to tempt a hungry little boy than this.
“No, not for anything that was ever cooked, or ever will be, would I give up my own dear book,” said Arthur stoutly.
They had found a temporary refuge from the rain in a doorway, and stood within its shelter during this exchange of the tantalizing thoughts uppermost in their minds. Nearly opposite to them was a street lamp that had just been lighted, and they watched the lamplighter enviously, as he shouldered his flaming torch and walked away, whistling merrily, doubtless to a home and supper.
Now, as in answer to Arthur’s last remark, Uncle Phin was saying: “Well, den, Honey, I don see but what we’se got er go hungry twel to-morrer, when maybe I kin git er job er wood sawin,” there came a quick rush of feet on the wet flagging. Arthur turned to look at the flying figure, and gave a little cry of recognition, as the light from the street lamp fell on its face. At the same instant Rusty recognized in it his old persecutor, the boy with whom his young master had fought in the tramps’ camp. With a growl he sprang forward. Arthur still held the end of his rope, and the dog’s movement was so sudden that it nearly threw him down. As it was, he stumbled, and the precious book, so recently the subject of their conversation, fell to the sidewalk. The next moment another figure, and this time it was that of Sandy Grimes, the big tramp, rushed past, evidently in pursuit of his boy, and then all was again quiet.
Recovering himself, and taking a firmer hold on the rope that held the still excited Rusty, Arthur stepped forward and picked up his book of fairy tales. As he did so, a bit of dark paper, that seemed to fall from between its leaves, fluttered to the wet stones, and this the boy also picked up. Curious to see what it was, he held it to the light and uttered a cry of incredulous amazement.