her nohow, an' I found her, anyways. Yes-suh, I trade in 'at mandoline
fer him 'cause always did like to have me a good dog--but I d'in' have
me no name fer him; an' this here Blooie Bowers, what I trade in the
mandoline to, he say HE d'in have no name fer him. Say nev' did know if
WAS a name fer him 'tall. So I'z spen' the evenin' at 'at lady's house,
Fanny, what used to be cook fer Miz Johnson, nex' do' you' maw's; an'
I ast Fanny what am I go'n' a do about it, an' Fanny say, 'Call him
Clematis,' she say. ''At's a nice name!' she say. 'Clematis.' So 'at's
name I name him, Clematis. Call him Clem fer short, but Clematis his
real name. He'll come, whichever one you call him, Clem or Clematis.
Make no diff'ence to him, long's he git his vittles. Clem or Clematis,
HE ain' carin'!"

William's ear was deaf to this account of the naming of Clematis; he
walked haughtily, but as rapidly as possible, trying to keep a little in
advance of his talkative companion, who had never received the training
as a servitor which should have taught him his proper distance from the
Young Master. William's suffering eyes were fixed upon remoteness; and
his lips moved, now and then, like a martyr's, pronouncing inaudibly a
sacred word. "Milady! Oh, Milady!"

Thus they had covered some three blocks of their journey--the
too-democratic Genesis chatting companionably and William burning with
mortification--when the former broke into loud laughter.

"What I tell you?" he cried, pointing ahead. "Look ayonnuh! NO, suh,
Pres'dent United States hisse'f ain' go tell 'at dog stay home!"

And there, at the corner before them, waited Clematis, roguishly lying
in a mud-puddle in the gutter. He had run through alleys parallel to