Old Ellen’s face glowed. “A present—for me, sir? May the Lord bless you.”
“It’s alive,” said my master, and he pointed to Beanie.
Ellen almost screamed. “Sir! not that lovely, fat dog!”
Master nodded, and she swooped down on Beanie, and took him, troubles and all, right up in her ample lap. It reminded me of the song she sang me when I was here before. “Take up de young lambs, tote ’em in your bosom, an’ let de ole sheep go.”
Beanie’s whole soul was shrinking from her, but he put a steady face on his troubles, and even curled his short lip gratefully at her.
She began to sway to and fro, rubbing her bleached old hand over his tired head.
“Don’t let him out alone,” said my master, “he might run home.”
Ellen’s face was almost silly with happiness. “There ain’t no little pickaninny in New York, that’ll have the ’tention this little master dog will have,” she said earnestly.
She always began to talk in a southern way when she saw master. I think he recalled her old employers down South.
“How will you feed him?” asked my master. “He has quite a good appetite.”