mouth."

But Petit-Crin, the fairy dog from Avalon that Tristram gave to Iseult,
was more than any honest collie could endure.

"No tongue could tell the marvel of it; 'twas of such wondrous fashion
that no man might say of what color it was. If one looked on the
breast, and saw naught else, one had said 'twas white as snow, yet its
thighs were greener than clover, and its sides, one red as scarlet, the
other more yellow than saffron. Its under parts were even as azure,
while above 'twas mingled, so that no one color might be distinguished;
'twas neither green nor red, white nor black, yellow nor blue, and yet
there was somewhat of all these therein; 'twas a fair purple brown. And
if one saw this strange creation of Avalon against the lie of the hair
there would be no man wise enough to tell its color, so manifold and
changing were its hues.

"Around its neck was a golden chain, and therefrom hung a bell, which
rang so sweet and clear when it began to chime Tristram forgot his
sadness and his sorrow, and the longing for Iseult that lay heavy at
his heart. So sweet was the tone of the bell that no man heard it but
he straightway forgat all that aforetime had troubled him.

"Tristram hearkened, and gazed on this wondrous marvel; he took note of
the dog and the bell, the changing colors of the hair, and the sweet
sound of the chimes; and it seemed to him that the marvel of the dog
was greater than that of the music which rang in his ears, and banished
all thought of sorrow.

"He stretched forth his hand and stroked the dog, and it seemed to him
that he handled the softest silk, so fine and so smooth was the hair to
his touch. And the dog neither growled, nor barked, nor showed any sign
of ill temper, however one might play with it; nor, as the tale goes,
was it ever seen to eat or to drink."

At this point, Sigurd rose, shook himself and stalked out to the
kitchen. He could bear a great deal from his pedantic mistresses, but
there were limits. Satiated with history and literature, he proposed to
relax his mind by a turn at psychology.

From Cecilia's successor, Ellen, Sigurd was taking a brief but vivid
course in psychics. To be sure, a _bona fide_ professor in that field
dwelt near us, her high-picketed fence enclosing a baker's dozen of
spaniels. It was understood, to the awe of the community, that by their
aid she investigated certain dark corners of her shadowy subject;
but Sigurd, embarrassed by the attentions