"Bow-wow!" barked Carlo, as he ran.
Perhaps he feared that he, too, might slip down that black, dark hole
which led into the coal bin of Dorothy's house. Then as Mirabell and
Arnold stood, looking with wide-opened eyes at the place where they had
last seen the Lamb, the man on the wagon threw another shovelful of coal
down the hole.
"Wait a minute! Stop! Oh, please stop!" begged Mirabell.
"Whut's dat? Whut's de mattah?" asked the coal-wagon driver.
He was a colored man, and that was the very best shade for him, I think.
No matter how much coal dust got on his face and hands it never showed.
"Her little Lamb fell down the coal hole," explained Arnold. "Carlo got
tangled in the string, it broke and she fell down the hole. Don't throw
any more coal on her until we get her out."
"Does you-all mean dat Carlo fell down de hole?" asked the colored coal-
wagon driver.
"No, Carlo is a dog," explained Mirabell. "He got tangled up in my
Lamb's string, and she fell down the hole. I haven't named my Lamb yet.
She's on wheels."
"On wheels?" cried the man. "A Lamb on Wheels? Well, I 'clar to goodness
dat's de fustest time I ebber done heah ob a t'ing laikdat!"
"Oh, she isn't a real, live lamb," explained Mirabell.
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