rse,
he's a bad starter. Hullo, there's Miss Bendish."

Miss Bendish, hurrying along, gave them a word as she went past.

"They're going to have the inspection directly," she said, "and give the
prizes. Is your animal quite ready?"

"I should like to brush him up a bit," said Jeremy. "Is there a tent or
anywhere where I could prepare him? His eyebrows get so matted if he's
left to himself for long." He took out a cigarette and lit it.

"There's a tent, but you'll have to hurry up."

"Oh, well, it doesn't really matter," said Jeremy, as he walked along
with her. "Hereward's natural beauty and agility will take him through."

On the south lawn the pets and their owners were assembling. Jeremy took
the leash out of his pocket and opened his cigarette-case.

"Good heavens!" he cried. "Hereward has escaped! Quick! Shut the gates!"
He saw Adams near and hurried up to him. "My blight has escaped," he
said breathlessly, holding up the now useless leash. "He gnawed through
the chain and got away. I'm afraid he may be running amok among the
guests. Supposing he were to leap upon Sir Thomas from behind and savage
him--it's too terrible." He moved anxiously on. "Have you seen my
blight?" he asked Miss Trehearne. "He has escaped, and we are rather
anxious. If he were to get the Vicar down and begin to worry him----" He
murmured something about "once getting the taste for blood" and hurried
off. The guests were assembled, and the judges walked down the line and
inspected their different animals. They were almost at the end of it
when Jeremy sprinted up and took his place by the last beast.

"It's all right," he panted to his wife, "I've got him. Silly of me to
mislay him, but he's so confoundedly shy." He held out his finger as the
judges approached, and introduced them to the small green pet perching
on the knuckle. "A blight," he said. "Hereward, the Chief Blight. Been
in the family for years. A dear old friend."

Jeremy went home a proud man. "Mr. J. P. Smith's blight, Hereward," had
taken first prize in the All-round class.

. . . . .

"Yes," he admitted to his wife at dinner, "there is something on my
mind." He looked at the handsome cigarette-box on the table in front of
him and sighed.

"What is it, dear? You enjoyed yourself this afternoon, you know you
did, and Hereward won you that beautiful cigarette-box. You ought to be
proud."

"That's the trouble. Hereward didn't win it."