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"But we don't want to lose him!" cried Freddie. "No, no!" said Flossie. "We want to keep him. He can run along behind the trolley car. I'll ask the motorman to go slow, papa." "My! This has been a mixedup day!" sighed Mr. Bobbsey. "I really don't know what to do." The dog seemed to think that he was one of the family, now. He came up to Flossie and Freddie and let them pat him.
Jest then, nearer and louder and sharper, and with an eager sound, like they knowed they almost had him now, them hounds' voices come ringing through the woods, and with them come the mixedup shouts of men. "RUN!" yells Sam, waving of that suit case round his head, fur one nigger will always try to help another no matter what he's done.
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