ility, and the welcome which he extends to callers is a
perpetual testimonial to the hospitality of the household."

"Ah," Winifred answered, smiling, "you say that because you belong to
the most favored nations. You might not think him so genial if you saw
the frigidity with which he receives some of our guests."

"Then I suppose I have only to be thankful that McGregor has not yet
caught a hint of my real character, as set forth last summer so
vividly by his mistress, and I think I have one more friend in the
household; what do you say to that, Paddy?"

The dog had risen from his comfortable doze in front of the fire, and
stood stretching himself, with two shaggy paws thrust out in front.
When he heard his name called he wagged his tail and came up to
Flint's chair, by which he squatted, laying his tawny head cosily
across the visitor's lap.

"Come here, Paddy; don't make yourself a nuisance!"

The dog listened calmly to his mistress's invitation, wagged his tail
again, and winked his sleepy eyes, but made no motion to obey.

Flint patted the dog's head.

"This is too bad!" Winifred exclaimed, in assumed indignation. "Jimmy
has already learned to oppose my opinions by quotations from what Mr.
Flint thinks and says; but I will not have Paddy taught to defy my
authority."

"Go, Paddy!" said Flint, moving his chair further back. "Your mistress
regards me as a dangerous character, and considers it her solemn duty
to remove every one in her charge from the risk of the injurious
effects of my society."

In spite of Flint's jesting tone there was a hint of bitterness in his
voice. The dog, in some surprise at the sudden withdrawal of his
head-rest, stood up, looking from one to the other, apparently in
doubt as to the rival claims. At length old habits of allegiance
asserted themselves, and he seated himself in the angle between the
tea-table and his mistress's chair.

Winifred's mood suddenly seemed to have changed from gay to grave. She
sat for a moment or two in silence, her hand softly playing with
Paddy's long ear, and her head bent ever so little to one side.

"Mr. Flint," she said at last, somewhat abruptly, "I want to tell you
a little story; but first let me make your tea. Do you take lemon?"

"Yes, if you please."

"And sugar?"

"One lump--no, thanks--no more."

"Try this brown-bread sandwich. Now, lean back in your chair and
listen. Once there was a girl--"

"No!"

"Yes, there was, and she w