ery good locality--is
not too great a distance for you to walk. In the morning, we shall return
that dog and her--er--young, and I see nothing amiss in your accepting a
suitable reward. Not a word now! No insubordination, mind. I won't have it.
David, John, Alexander, listen--I am in no mood to be trifled with. Put
down those squirming creatures and march to your bed!"

Giftie's hour had struck. It was no use rebelling. With bitter composure,
we carried our beloved to the scullery, and laid them on the mat beside
their mother. It was not until we were safe in bed that our pent up fury
broke loose; and we pounded the pillows, and cursed the name of womankind.

Women! Tyrants! Mischievous busybodies!

"When I'm a man," said Angel, suddenly, "I'll marry a woman, and I'll beat
her every day."

"Me too!" cried The Seraph, stoutly, "I'll mawy two--fat ones--an' beat 'em
bofe."

For myself, I was inclined for an unhampered bachelorhood, but it soothed
my wounded spirit to picture these three hapless females in the grip of
Angel and The Seraph, and the music of their outcries lulled me fast
asleep.

IV

We found next morning that Mrs. Handsomebody and Mary Ellen had never gone
back to bed all night, but had kept watch in the dining-room till daylight,
when Mary Ellen had been dispatched to find a policeman. He was in the
kitchen now, a commanding figure, making notes in a little book; and
seeming to derive great benefit from his conversation with Mary Ellen.

A new arrival was a wheeled-chair to convey Mrs. Handsomebody to 5 Argyle
Road. Therefore, about ten o'clock, after the most exhausting preparations,
we set out, a singular party; Mrs. Handsomebody enthroned in the chair,
mistress of herself (and every one else) her black-gloved hands crossed on
her lap; Mary Ellen, hot, straining over the wheeled-chair, lest her
mistress get an unseemly bump at the crossing; Angel and I, bearing between
us a covered hamper containing the three pups; while Giftie and The Seraph
in the abandon of youth and ignorance, sported on the outskirts of the
group.

The way was long, and our arms ached with the weight of the hamper, when we
stopped before the gate of Number 5 Argyle Road. It was an imposing house
in its own grounds; large clipped trees stood about; and a bent old
gardener was doing something to one of those, while a tall grey-haired
woman in mannish tweeds superintended the work. A Scottish terrier, fit
mate for Giftie,