"Has he got any
name?"
In a desperate groping for his inspiration, Jim thought instantly of
all his favorites--Diogenes, Plutarch, Endymion, Socrates, Kit Carson,
and Daniel Boone.
"Wal, yes. His name--" and there old Jim halted, while "Di" and "Plu"
and "Indy" and "Soc" all clamored in his brain for the honor. "His
name--I reckon his name is Carson Boone."
"Little Carson," said Rachie. "Isn't Carson a sweet little boy, mammy?
What's he got--a rabbit?"
"That's his doll," said Jim.
"Oh, papa, look!" said Rachie.
"Oh, papa, look!" echoed Susie.
"Papa, yook!" piped Ellie, the youngest, who wanted the dolly for
herself, and, therefore, hauled at it lustily.
The others endeavored to prevent her depredations. Between them they
tore the precious creation from the hands of the tiny man, and released
the pup, who immediately leaped up and fastened a hold on the doll
himself, to the horror of the preacher, Miss Doc, old Jim, Mrs. Stowe,
and Skeezucks, all of whom, save the newly christened little Carson,
pounced upon the children, the doll, and Tintoretto, with one accord.
And there is nothing like a pounce upon a lot of children or a pup to
make folks well acquainted.
Her "powder-flask" ladyship being duly rescued, her raiment smoothed,
and her head readjusted on her body, the three small, healthy girls
were perpetually enjoined from another such exhibition of coveting
their neighbor's doll, whereupon all conceived that new diversion must
be forthwith invented.
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