ggered in my direction (he could not see) and
literally fell into my arms, with one last wag of his dear tail.

"They say care killed the cat," said Mrs. Bundle, when I went up to
the nursery, "but if it could cure a dog, my deary, your dog would
have been alive now. I never see the Squire so put about since you had
the fever. He was up at five o'clock this very morning, the groom
says, putting stuff into the corners of its mouth with a silver
teaspoon, and he've had all the cow doctors about to see him, and Dr.
Gilpin himself he've been every day, and Mr. Andrewes the same. And
I'd like to know, my deary, what more could be done for a sick
Christian than the doctor and parson with him daily till he dies?"

"A Christian would be buried in the churchyard," said I; "and I wish
poor dear Rubens could."

But as he couldn't, I made his grave where the churchyard wall skirted
the grounds of the Hall. "Perhaps, some day, the churchyard will have
to be enlarged," I explained to the Rector, who was puzzled by my
choice of a burying-place, "and then Rubens will _get taken in_."

My father was most anxious to get me another pet. I might have had a
dog of any kind. Dogs of priceless breeds, dogs for sporting, for
ratting, and for petting; dogs for use or for ornament. From a
bloodhound and mastiff almost large enough for me to ride, to a toy
poodle that would go into my pocket--I might have chosen a worthy
successor to Rubens, but I could not.

"I shall never care for any other dog," I was rash enough to declare.
But my resolve melted away one day at the sight of a soft, black ball,
like a lump of soot, which arrived in a game-bag, and proved to be a
retriever pup. He grew into a charming dog, of much wisdom and
amiability. I called him Sweep.

Thus half by half, holidays by holidays, changes, ceaseless changes
went on. Births, deaths, and marriages furnished my father with "news"
for his letters when I was away, and Nurse Bundle and me with gossip
when I came back.

I heard also at intervals from Polly. Uncle Ascott's wealth increased
yearly. The girls grew up. Helen "was becoming Tractarian and
peculiar," which annoyed Aunt Maria exceedingly. Mr. Clerke had got a
curacy in London, and preached very earnest sermons, which Aunt Maria
hoped would do Helen good. Mr. Clerke worked very hard, and seemed to
like it; but he said that his happiest days were Dacrefield days. "I
quite agree with him," Polly added. Then came a letter