ing speech. "A puppy, I guess you'd call it. I'll have to move it to one side before we can drive past, because it is in the middle of the road."
Bobby leaned out to look.
"It must be hurt!" she cried. "Bring it in here, quick, Carter. Why, it's just a tiny puppy, Betty," she added; "a black and white one."
Carter, mingled pain and reproach in his face, brought the dog to them, holding it gingerly away from him so as not to soil his coat.
"It's very muddy, Miss Bobby," he said disapprovingly. "Your mother won't like them nice gray cushions all stained up."
"Well, couldn't you lend me your handkerchief, Carter?" suggested Bobby gently. "I'll wipe him off. There now, he's all right. My handkerchief's so small it wouldn't have done one of his paws."
Carter, minus his handkerchief, started the car and they rounded the curve. The puppy seemed to be all right except that he was wet and shivering, and Bobby and Betty had decided that he was very young but otherwise in perfect health when the car stopped again.
"There's another one of 'em, Miss Bobby," groaned Carter. "You don't want this one, do you?"
The girls thrust out their heads. Sure enough,
