TAG; OR, THE CHIEN BOULE DOG
But Bateese was yawning and speechless.
“He is called Baptiste,” said Patty, “a French name, you know.”
“Well now!” exclaimed the well meaning landlady, “you don’t look like French folk.”
“He was called after a relative,” said Patty faintly, adding in firmer but sweet tones, “Thank you so much, Mrs. Trent, we won’t want anything more just now.”
The widow took her dismissal with good grace, and left the room. A few moments later one might have seen a small boy sleeping oblivious on a couch while two dishevelled young people danced noiselessly round the room, stopping only when weak with laughter to throw themselves on the nearest chairs, wipe their eyes and chokingly recount some experience of that seemingly interminable day.
