an' you'd given us the slip. I'm
Bob, myself, ye see, an' I've come all right!"

"Are you Robert Sawyer?" she gasped.

"Jest ye hear that, Bones!" laughed the boy shrilly, capering round and
round the small dog again. "I's 'Robert' now--do ye hear?" Then he
whirled back to his position in front of Miss Wetherby, and made a low
bow. "Robert Sawyer, at yer service," he announced in mock pomposity.
"Oh, I say," he added with a quick change of position, "yer 'd better
call me 'Bob'; I ain't uster nothin' else. I'd fly off the handle
quicker 'n no time, puttin' on airs like that."

Miss Wetherby's back straightened. She made a desperate attempt to
regain her usual stern self-possession.

"I shall call ye 'Robert,' boy. I don't like--er--that other name."

There was a prolonged stare and a low whistle from the boy. Then he
turned to pick up his bundle.

"Come on, Bones, stir yer stumps; lively, now! This 'ere lady 's
a-goin' ter take us ter her shebang ter stay mos' two weeks. Gee-whiz!
Bones, ain't this great!" And with one bound he was off the platform
and turning a series of somersaults on the soft grass followed by the
skinny, mangy dog which was barking itself nearly wild with joy.

Ann Wetherby gazed at the revolving mass of heads and legs of boy and
dog in mute despair, then she rose to her feet and started down the
street.

"You c'n foller me," she said sternly, without turning her head toward
the culprits on the grass.

The boy came upright instantly.

"Do ye stump it, marm?"

"What?" she demanded, stopping short in her stupefaction.

"Do ye stump it--hoof it--foot it, I mean," he enumerated quickly, in a
praise-worthy attempt to bring his vocabulary to the point where it
touched hers.

"Oh--yes; 't ain't fur," vouchsafed Ann feebly.

Bobby trotted alongside of Miss Wetherby, meekly followed by the dog.
Soon the boy gave his trousers an awkward hitch, and glanced sideways
up at the woman.

"Oh, I say, marm, I think it's bully of yer ter let me an' Bones come,"
he began sheepishly. "It looked 's if our case 'd hang fire till the
crack o' doom; there wa'n't no one ter have us. When Miss Ethel, she
told me her aunt 'd take us, it jest struck me all of a heap. I tell
ye, me an' Bones made tracks fur Slocumville 'bout's soon as they 'd
let us."

"I hain't no doubt of it!" retorted Ann, looking back hopelessly at the
dog.

"Ye see," continued the boy confidentially, "there ain't ev'ry o