me down, and I suggested that a short
walk in the sunshine would do her good, but she shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Miss 'Olden, but I'm that busy I couldn't leave just now.
I was wonderin' if you'd mind comin' upstairs while I get on with my
work."

"Sit down a bit, can't you?" said the man; "I want Miss Terry to show
this lady some of her tricks. You're always in such a desperate hurry,
you are."

"Someb'dy has to be in a 'urry," she replied, "when there's naught
comin' in, an' three mouths to feed, to say nothin' of the dog, which
costs nearly as much as all t' rest put together."

"You leave the dog alone," he growled; "Miss Terry brings in as much as
all t' rest put together, doesn't she?"

"I say nought against her," she answered wearily; "t' dog's right
enough, but she's bringin' nought in now."

She sat down, however, at my side, and Miss Terry proceeded to justify
her name. She dressed herself in a queer little hobble-skirt costume,
put on a hat and veil, raised a sunshade, and moved about the room in
the most amusing way. She fetched a miniature bedstead, undressed and
put herself to bed in a manner calculated to bring down the house every
time. She removed the handkerchief (a very dirty one, by the way) from
her master's pocket, sneezed, wiped her nose, and then replaced it
without apparently arousing its owner's attention. She drank out of
his glass, simulated intoxication, and fell into a seemingly drunken
sleep, with much exaggerated snoring.

And all the time Roger Treffit stood or sat, as circumstances required,
addressing the dog in the politest and most deferential terms, with the
smug smile of satisfaction threatening to cut the chin entirely, from
his face.

"Now, Miss Terry," he said in conclusion, "you must not overtire
yourself. We are very grateful for the hentertainment you have
pervided. Have the goodness to step up to the lady and say good-bye."

The dog extended a paw, and Martha and I were permitted to withdraw.

"It really is a very clever dog," I remarked, when we were alone in the
prison-like bedroom.

"It's a very good dog, too," she replied; "it 'ud look after me more
nor he would if he'd let it. It 'asn't a bit o' vice about it, an' I
only wish I could say as much for its master."

"Why are you sitting up here in this wretched loft, where the light is
so poor for such fine work?"

"To be out of his way, an' that's the truth," she replied bitterly. "I
shall go d