CHAPTER V

WAIFS AND STRAYS


"What a cruel, cruel thing!" Nan murmured.

"I never supposed the railroad took babies as baggage," said her chum
wonderingly.

At that Nan uttered a laugh that was half a sob. "Silly! reach down
that lantern, please. Stand on the box. I'll show you what sort of a
baby it is."

Bess obeyed her injunction and brought the light. Nan was kneeling in
the corner before a small crate of slats in which was a beautiful,
brown-eyed, silky haired water spaniel--nothing but a puppy--that was
licking her hands through his prison bars and wriggling his little
body as best he could in the narrow quarters to show his affection
and delight.

"Well, I never!" cried Bess, falling on her knees before the dog's
carrier, and likewise worshipping. "Isn't he the cunning, tootsie-wootsie
sing? 'E 'ittle dear! Oh, Nan! isn't he a love? How soft his tiny tongue
is," for the puppy was indiscriminate in his expressions of affection.

"I believe the men must have forgotten him," said Nan.

"It's a murderin' shame, as cook would say," Bess declared. "Let's
let him out."