The question seemed so unnecessary and out of place, considering all the circumstances, that Tim took no notice of it, but asked, "What's your name?"
"Sam."
"Sam what?"
"I dunno, but I guess it's Simpson."
"Well, you're funny, if you ain't sure what your name is," said Tim, thoughtfully, forgetting his own troubles in his curiosity about this queer specimen. "What makes you think your name's Simpson?"
"'Cause that's my father's name."
By this time Tim had released his hold of Tip's neck, and the dog walked around Sam on a sort of smelling tour, very much to the boy's discomfort.
"Don't be afraid," said Tim; "he won't bite you. He's the best dog in the world if you only let him alone."
"I'll let him alone," replied Sam, still in doubt as to Tip's good intentions—"I'll let him alone, an' I wish he'd let me alone."
"He's only kinder gettin' acquainted, that's all. Say, do you s'pose your father would let me sleep in his barn to-night?"