“So the colored boy slept in a hogshead,” murmured the Judge.
“Hark,” said Bethany, suddenly, “I hear his bark, his sweet, sweet bark. O, my dear Bylow, my lovely spotted dog, I could hug you.”
The Judge, happening to be near the hall window, and happening to hear a dog bark, instinctively looked out.
To his amazement a colored boy with a dog was passing on the opposite side of the street—and the dog was spotted.
“Bethany,” he said, suddenly, “is your colored boy very black?”
She threw up her little head, and, losing her thoughtful expression, came back to earth. “No, sir; Brick is a kind of a red-brown boy—like bricks. That is why the boys called him Brick.”
The Judge involuntarily stretched out a hand. He felt like hailing the dirty-looking mulatto boy now getting out of sight.
“There goes Bylow again,” exclaimed Bethany, “hear his sweet little voice, Sukey.”
The Judge started. The dog in the street had just uttered a succession of barks as he turned the corner—most unmelodious and ugly barks, to tell the truth, but then Bethany’s geese were all swans.
“Child,” he said, “I thought that dog was a ghost dog.”