Thus, more than once, had the Mistress tossed out to him his flannel doll, as he had stood in pathetic invitation on the porch, looking in at her as she read or talked.

She had laughed at his wild tossings and other maltreatments of the limp doll.

He had felt he was scoring a real hit.

And this hit he decided to repeat.
Snatching up the swollen little satchel, almost before it left the intruder's hand, Lad shook it, joyously, reveling in the faint clink and jingle of the contents.

He backed playfully away; the bag-handle swinging in his jaws.