"You heard what I said," returned his mother curtly.

The washerwoman, who one day a week lightened Mrs. Hazen's
household labors, waddled into view from behind the billows of
wind-swirled clothes. She was an excellent person, and was built
for endurance rather than for speed. At sight of Lass she paused
in real interest.

"My!" she exclaimed with flattering approval. "So you got your
dog, did you? You didn't waste no time. And he's sure a handsome
little critter. Whatcher goin' to call him?"

"It's not a him, Irene," contradicted Mrs. Hazen, with another
modest lowering of her strong voice. "It's a HER. And I'm sending
Dick back with her, to where she came from. I've got my opinion
of people who will take advantage of a child's ignorance, by
palming off a horrid female dog on him, too. Take her away, Dick.
I won't have her here another minute. You hear me?"

"Please, Ma!" stammered Dick, battling with his desire to cry.
"Aw, PLEASE! I--I--"

"Your ma's right, Dick," chimed in the washerwoman, her first
interested glance at the puppy changing to one of refined and
lofty scorn. "Take her back. You don't want any female dogs
around. No nice folks do."

"Why not?" demanded the boy in sudden hopeless anger as he
pressed lovingly the nose Lass thrust so comfortingly into his
hand. "WHY don't we want a female dog around? Folks have female