like those horrid Gypsies that came to the house the other day,” added Dot eagerly. “I was afraid of them.”
“Well, it suah ain’t b’long ’round yere – dat dawg,” muttered Uncle Rufus. “It done run erway f’om somewhar’ an’ hit trabbel far – ya-as’m!”
He pulled the ears of the big dog himself, in a kindly fashion, and the dog pounded the porch harder with his tail and rolled a trusting eye up at the little group. Evidently the tramp dog was convinced that this would be a good place to remain in, and “rest up.”
A pretty girl of twelve or thirteen, with flower-like face, plump, and her blue eyes dancing and laughing in spite of her, ran in at the side gate. She had a covered basket of groceries on her arm, and was swathed in a raincoat with a close hood about her face.
“Agnes!” screamed Dot. “See what we’ve got! Just the nicest, friendfulnest dog – ”
“Mercy, Dot! More animals?” was the older sister’s first comment.
“But he’s such a nice dog,” wailed Dot.
“And so hungry and wet,” added Tess.
“What fine eyes he has!” exclaimed Agnes, stooping down to pat the noble head. Instantly the dog’s pink tongue sought her hand and – Agnes was won!
“He’s splendid! he’s a fine old fellow!” she cried. “Of course we’ll keep him, Dot.”
“If Ruthie says so,” added Tess, with a loyalty to the oldest Corner House girl born of the fact that Ruth had mothered the brood of three younger sisters since their real mother had died three years previous.
“I dunno wot yo’ chillen want er dawg for,” complained Uncle Rufus.
“To keep chicken thieves away,” said Agnes, promptly, laughing roguishly at the grumbling black man.
“Oh!” cried Tess. “You said yourself, Uncle Rufus, that those Gypsies that stopped here might be looking at Ruth’s chickens.”
“Well, I done guess dat tramp dawg knows when he’s well off,” said the old man, chuckling suddenly. “He’s layin’ down lak’ he’s fixin’ tuh stay – ya-as’m!”
The dog had crept to the most sheltered corner of the porch and curled up on an old rag mat Mrs. MacCall had left there for the cats.
“He ought to have that dirty old rope taken off,” said Agnes.
Uncle Rufus drew out his clasp knife and opened the blade. He approached the weary dog and knelt down to remove the rope.
“Glo-ree!” he exclaimed, suddenly. “He done got er collar on him.”
It was hidden in the thick hair about the dog’s neck. The three girls crowded close to see, Uncle Rufus unbuckled it and handed the leather strap to Agnes.
“See if there is any name and address on it, Aggie!” gasped Tess. “Oh! I hope not. Then, if we don’t know where he came from, he’s ours for keeps.”
There was a small brass plate; but no name, address, or license number was engraved upon it. Instead, in clear script, it was marked:
“There!” cried Dot, as though this settled the controversy. “What did I tell you? He can’t be any tramp dog. He’s a gentleman.”
“‘Tom Jonah,’” murmured Agnes. “What a funny name!”
When Ruth came home the younger girls bore her off at once to see Tom Jonah sleeping comfortably on the porch. The old dog raised his grizzled muzzle, wagged his tail, and beamed at her out of his soft brown eyes.
“The dear love!” cried Tess, clasping her hands. “Isn’t he beautiful, Ruthie?”
“Beautifully dirty,” said Ruth, doubtfully.
“Oh, but Uncle Rufus says he will wash him to-morrow. He’s got some insect – insecty-suicide soap like he puts on the henroosts – ”
“Insecticide, Dot,” admonished Tess. “I wish you wouldn’t try to say words that you can’t say.”
Dot pouted. But Ruth patted her head and said, soothingly:
“Never mind, honey. We’ll let the poor dog stay till he rests up, anyway. He looks like a kind creature.”
But she, as well as the adults in the old Corner House, did not expect to see Tom Jonah the next morning when they awoke. He was allowed to remain on the porch, and despite the objections of Sandyface, the mother cat, and the army of younger felines growing up about her, Tom Jonah was given a bountiful supper by Mrs. MacCall herself.
Dot and Tess ran to peep at the dog just before going to bed that night. He blinked at them in the lampshine from the open door, and thumped the porch flooring with his tail.
It was past midnight before anything more was heard of Tom Jonah. Then the whole house was aroused – not to say the neighborhood. There was a savage salvo of barks from the porch, and down the steps scrambled Tom Jonah. They heard him go roaring down the yard.
Then there arose a great confusion at the hen house – a squawking of frightened hens, the loud “cut, cut, ca-da-cut!” of the rooster, mingling with which was the voice of at least one human being and the savage baying of Tom Jonah.
CHAPTER II – SOMETHING TO LOOK FORWARD TO
Uncle Rufus was too old and too stiff to get out of bed and down from his third-story room in the old Corner House, to be of any assistance at this midnight incident. But the girls were awakened the moment Tom Jonah began barking.
“It’s a hen thief!” squealed Tess, leaping out of her own warm nest.
“I hope that dog bites him!” cried Agnes, savagely, from the other room.
She ran to the window. It was a starlit, but foggy night. She could see only vaguely the objects out of doors.
Ruth was scrambling into a skirt and dressing sacque; she thrust her feet into shoes, too, and started downstairs. Mrs. MacCall’s window went up with a bang, and the girls heard the housekeeper exclaim:
“Shoo! shoo! Get out of there!”
Whoever it was that had roused Tom Jonah, the person was evidently unable to “get out of there.” The dog’s threatening growls did not cease, and the man’s voice which had first been heard when the trouble started, was protesting.
Agnes followed her older sister downstairs. Of course, Aunt Sarah Maltby, who slept in one of the grand front rooms in the main part of the house, did not even hear all the disturbance. And there were not any houses really near the Stower Homestead, which Milton people knew by the name of “the old Corner House.”
Therefore, the sounds of conflict at the Kenway hennery were not likely to arouse many people. But when Ruth and Agnes reached out-of-doors, the younger girl remembered one person who might hear and be of assistance.
“Let’s call Neale O’Neil!” she cried to Ruth. “He’ll help us.”
“We’d
