On the other hand, she delighted in a drive
in a 'growler,' and, if the driver were cleaning out his carriage, would
often jump in and refuse to be taken out.

"When Rory followed us in London she had a foolish habit of wishing to
seem independent of all restraint, and of desiring to appear 'a
gentleman at large.'

"On one unfortunate occasion, whilst indulging in this propensity, she
was knocked over by a hansom--not badly hurt, but terribly overcome by a
sense of the wickedness of the world, where such things could be
possible.

"The accident happened in Dover Street. Rory had strayed into the gutter
after some tempting morsel she had espied there, and a dashing hansom
had bowled her over. She lay yelping and howling and pitying herself
intensely. My companion and I succeeded in dragging her into a baker's
shop, where she was shown every kindness and consideration, and then we
drove home in a four-wheeler. Rory was not much hurt, but for many days
could hardly be induced to walk in the streets again. She seemed to be
permeated with a sense of the instability and uncertainty of all things,
and never appeared able to recover from her surprise that she, 'Rory
Bean,' a mastiff of most ancient lineage and of the bluest blood, should
not be able to walk about in safety wherever she pleased--even in the
streets of the metropolis.

[Sidenote: Lost in London]

"I recollect we once lost her in London. She made her escape out of the
house whilst we had gone for a ride in the park. When we returned from
our ride, instead of hearing her joyous bark of welcome, and seeing her
flop down in her excitement the last four steps of the staircase, as was
her wont, we were met instead by the anxious face of the butler, who
told us Rory had run out and could not be found.

"Fortunately, we were not dining out that night, and so, as quickly as
possible, we sallied forth in different directions to find her. The
police were communicated with, and a letter duly written to the manager
of the Dogs' Home at Battersea, whilst my husband and I spent the
evening in wandering from police-station to police-station, giving
descriptions of the missing favourite.

"Large fawn mastiff, answers to the name of 'Rory Bean,' black face and
perfectly gentle. I got quite wearied out in giving over and over again
the same account. However, to cut a long story short, she was at last
discovered by the butler, who heard her frantic baying a mile off in the