Sunny Boy slipped down from the arm of his mother’s chair and ran over to the window. He flattened his nose against the rain-spattered glass and peered out. Then, without a word to any one, he ran from the room.
“Sunny! Sunny Boy! where are you going?” called Mrs. Horton.
“That crazy child’s gone right out into the rain,” cried Harriet, running to the front door. The others followed her.
Sunny Boy was out in the middle of the street, bending over a little object that lay in the road. As his mother reached the door he picked it up and came running back, his eyes shining, the water dripping from his yellow hair.
“It’s alive, Mother!” he shouted. “Do you s’pose the lightning struck it?”
“Sunny Boy!” said Mrs. Horton drawing him in and closing the door, while a peal of thunder rattled the windows again, “what made you run out in the storm like that?”
“Why, it’s a dog,” explained Sunny Boy, wide-eyed. “A little dog, Mother, and it was right in the middle of the street. An automobile might run right over it and never see it.”
“Bring it out into the kitchen, the poor thing,” said Harriet. “I noticed it ten minutes ago, but I couldn’t make out whether ’twas a bundle of rags or something alive. Here, I’ll turn on the light. Let’s see what kind of dog you’ve got.”
Sunny Boy put the dog into the apron Harriet held out. Two big brown eyes looked out from a tangled mass of silky hair that should have been white, but was now spotted and streaked with red mud, and a curly tail wagged gently.
“Why, it’s a little beauty!” exclaimed Aunt Bessie. “Poor thing, it’s so cold it’s about exhausted. Some one’s pet I suppose, and these house dogs can’t stand exposure. What shall we feed it?”