“And then Aunt Vi wrote to you; don’t you know? And you said you’d send me a present in a bag, and it would come that day to the post-office, and we must go right off and get it. I never guessed what it was; nobody could guess.
“How I laughed! how papa laughed! It was a great, strong bag. There, turn your head round, Punch! He had a blue ribbon round his neck then. Who would have thought he came in that bag? But he did. Didn’t you, Punch?
“He wasn’t half as big then as he is now. He never died at all. No, Punch, you breathed all the time just the same. And when we took you out of the bag you were as alive as could be, and wanted some bread and milk.”
Punch wagged his tail at this story as if he remembered it all.
“That was last March, if I’m not mistaken,” said Mr. Sanford. “And Punch was then six months old. That would make him a year old now.
“Well, he’s not very handsome, but he is a knowing dog. I think you did a good thing when you had that tooth out, Jimmy.”
Jimmy’s head rose a little higher.
“Well, and I told mamma I was willing to go to the dentist again, for it didn’t hurt much. But mamma said I needn’t go again; ’twas no use to pull out my teeth when they didn’t ache. And, besides, I don’t want any more dogs, you know. What do I want of more dogs when I have Punch?
“Punch, come here! When you lick my hand so, and tickle me, I have to laugh. But he doesn’t look as if he came in a bag, does he, Mr. Sanford?”