Revere laughed heartily. “No, I don’t believe you would,” he said. “Well, I’ll have some clothes for you in a trice. Put ’em on in the other room; you can return ’em to-morrow or next day.”
Half an hour later Don said good-bye to Hank and John and set forth toward the house in Pudding Lane. Twilight was coming on, but Don was not sorry for that. He thought of the miserable figure that he must present to passers-by. The coat he wore was several sizes too large for him; he had turned up the sleeves three times, and still they reached to his knuckles. The trousers were so big that he felt as if he were walking in a burlap bag. The hat, which was his own, was wet and misshapen. And at his heels trotted a wet, shivering terrier; no leash was necessary now.
What would his aunt say? And then he happened to remember that the day was Saturday. “Why, I declare,” he said to himself. “Uncle Dave and Glen are expected home to-night.”
He quickened his steps as he crossed the cobblestones on King Street. He was thinking of just how he should begin his story, but suddenly in the midst of his thoughts he stopped and looked at the pup. “I believe I’ve found a name for you!” he said.
The pup wagged his tail.
“I can’t call you Redcoat or soldier, but since it was a sailor I got you of, and a sailor that pulled both of us out of the water, I’m going to call you—Sailor!”
The pup’s tail wagged more vigorously, as if he were content with the name.
Don reached his aunt’s house; there was a light in the store; he entered and passed through to the sitting-room. Uncle David and Glen evidently had been home for some little while, for they were both seated comfortably beside a candle, reading the Massachusetts Spy and the Boston Gazette. They looked up as Don entered, and Aunt Martha, who had just come from the kitchen, dropped a plateful of doughnuts and gave a little cry.
“Where you been, Don, to get such clothes as those?” asked Glen.
“Donald Alden, I couldn’t believe it was you,” said Aunt Martha. “How you frightened me!”