ster and mistress are leaving him.

It has been my business to find a new home for him. This is harder than
you think. I can make him sound lovable, but I cannot make him sound
good. Of course, I might leave out his doubtful qualities, and describe
him merely as beautiful and affectionate; I might ... but I couldn't. I
think Chum's habitual smile would get larger, he would wriggle the end
of himself more ecstatically than ever if he heard himself summed up as
beautiful and affectionate. Anyway, I couldn't do it, for I get carried
away when I speak of him and I reveal all his bad qualities.

"I am afraid he is a snob," I confessed to one woman of whom I had
hopes. "He doesn't much care for what he calls the lower classes."

"Oh?" she said.

"Yes, he hates badly dressed people. Corduroy trousers tied up at the
knee always excite him. I don't know if any of your family--no, I
suppose not. But if he ever sees a man with his trousers tied up at the
knee he goes for him. And he can't bear tradespeople; at least not the
men. Washerwomen he loves. He rather likes the washing-basket too. Once,
when he was left alone with it for a moment, he appeared shortly
afterwards on the lawn with a pair of--well, I mean he had no business
with them at all. We got them away after a bit of a chase, and then they
had to go to the wash again. It seemed rather a pity when they'd only
just come back. Of course, I smacked his head for him; but he looks so
surprised and reproachful when he's done wrong that you never feel it's
quite his fault."

"I doubt if I shall be able to take him after all," she said. "I've just
remembered----"

I forget what it was she remembered, but it meant that I was still
without a new home for Chum.

"What does he eat?" somebody else asked me. It seemed hopeful; I could
see Chum already installed.

"Officially," I said, "he lives on puppy biscuits; he also has the
toast-crusts after breakfast and an occasional bone. Privately, he is
fond of bees. I have seen him eat as many as six bees in an afternoon.
Sometimes he wanders down to the kitchen-garden and picks the
gooseberries; he likes all fruit, but gooseberries are the things he can
reach best. When there aren't any gooseberries about he has to be
content with the hips and haws from the rose-trees. But really you
needn't bother, he can eat anything. The only thing he doesn't like is
whitening. We were just going to mark the lawn one day, and while we
were bu