"K-a-l-k-e-w-l-a-i-g-h-t—there, that 'll do," continued Andy.
"No, spell one more word—spell tobacco, and you shall have it," added Alfred.
"T-o-e-b-a-c-k-k-o-u-g-h—now hand over the 'baccy.'"
"I have n't got any—have you, Oscar?" said Alfred
Oscar fumbled in his pockets, but there was none to be found.
"You mean, contemptible scalliwags!" exclaimed Andy, "why did n't you tell me that before? You catch me in that trap again, if you can!" and he walked off in a passion, amid the laughter of Oscar and Alfred.
"Let's go and see the pups, Alf," said Oscar, after they had got done laughing over the joke they had played upon Andy.
Alfred's step-father had a fine dog of the hound species, with a litter of cunning little pups. A bed had been made for her and the little ones in a corner of the yard, adjoining the stable, with a rough covering to shelter them from wind and storms. The pups were now several weeks old. There were five of them, and a fat and frolicksome set they were too. As the boys approached them, they were frisking and capering as usual; tumbling and rolling over one another, climbing upon the back of their mother, and pulling and barking at the straw. Their mother, whose name was Bright, sat watching their gambols with a very affectionate but sedate look. Perhaps she was wondering whether she was ever so mischievous and frisky as these little fellows were. When the pups looked up and saw the boys, they stopped their fun for a time, for they were not yet much accustomed to company. Bright, however, knew both Alfred and Oscar; and as she was a dog of good education and accomplished manners, she did not allow herself to be disconcerted in the least by their presence.
