high wall, obviously
screening a railroad track.

"We've got him!" I exclaimed.

I felt as Moltke must have felt when he closed the circle at Sedan.

"But where is the Dogs' Home, dear?" inquired Stella.

The question was never answered, for at this moment the man ran up the
steps of the fourth villa on the left and slipped a latchkey into the
lock. The door closed behind him with a venomous snap and we were left
alone in the street, guideless and dogless.

A minute later the man appeared at the ground-floor window, accompanied
by a female of commanding appearance. He pointed us out to her. Behind
them we could dimly descry a white tablecloth, a tea cozy and covered
dishes.

The commanding female, after a prolonged and withering glare, plucked a
hairpin from her head and ostentatiously proceeded to skewer together
the starchy white curtains that framed the window. Privacy secured and
the sanctity of the English home thus pointedly vindicated, she and her
husband disappeared into the murky background, where they doubtless sat
down to an excellent high tea. Exhausted and discomfited, we drifted
away.

"I am going home," said Stella in a hollow voice. "And I think," she
added bitterly, "that it might have occurred to you to suggest that the
creature might possibly be going from the Dogs' Home and not to it."

I apologized. It is the simplest plan, really.

II

IT was almost dark when the train arrived at our little country
station. We set out to walk home by the short cut across the golf
course.

"Anyhow, we have saved five shillings," remarked Stella.

"We paid half a crown for that taxi which took us back to Victoria
Station," I reminded her.

"Do not argue to-night, darling," responded my wife. "I simply cannot
endure anything more."

Plainly she was a little unstrung. Very considerately, I selected
another topic.

"I think our best plan," I said cheerfully, "would be to advertise for a
dog."

"I never wish to see a dog again," replied Stella.

I surveyed her with some concern and said gently:--

"I am afraid you are tired, dear."

"No; I'm not."

"A little shaken, perhaps?"

"Nothing of the kind. Joe, what is that?"

Stella's fingers bit deep into my biceps muscle, causing me considerable
pain. We were passing a small sheet of water which guards the thirteenth
green on the golf course. It is a stagnant and unclean pool, but we make
rather a fuss of it. We call it the pond; and if