“Of course he is,” said Nat. “He’s as good-natured as he can be.”
“How are you going to tell? He doesn’t wag his tail when you pat him on the head—see there!”
“Aw, give him time,” laughed Ned. “Don’t you know it takes a dachshund several minutes to transmit ecstacy along the line to the terminus?”
They went along to Tavia’s house gaily. The boys remained to supper, and it was only after that comfortable meal, and while the boys were in Mr. Travers’ “office,” where he smoked his evening pipe, the girls being busy clearing the table and washing dishes, that Nat sang out:
“Hi, Doro! did you hear about your redhead?”
“What about him?” cried Dorothy and Tavia.
“Mr. Travers says he got the G. B. after letting those oxen run away.”
“Oh, never!” cried Tavia, coming to the door.
“You were sore on him yourself, Tavia,” reminded Bob Niles.
“But you didn’t discharge him, Father?” questioned the tender-hearted girl.