erfelto, of long gallops over Exmoor after
the stag, or of hard runs after the little 'red rover' with Mr.
Fellowes' hounds."

"What dogs have you now?" inquired Mrs. Hamilton.

"Amongst others, a large St. Bernard," is my reply--"Bathsheba, so
called after Mr. Hardy's heroine. Not that she has any of that young
lady's delicate changes and complications of character, nor is she even
'almighty womanish.'

"Our Bathsheba is of an inexhaustible good temper, stupid, and
wonderfully stolid and gentle. She is never crusty, and is the untiring
playmate of any child. The 'Lubber fiend' we call her sometimes in fun,
for she seems to extend over acres of carpet when she takes a siesta in
the drawing-room.

"'Has she a soul?' inquired a friend who admired the great gentle
creature. 'I fear not,' was my reply; 'only a stomach.'

"Besides Bathsheba, we have a large retriever called 'Frolic.' He and
Bath are given sometimes to running after people who go to the back
door; they never bite, but growl, and bark if it is a complete
stranger.

"On one occasion, an Irishman who had been employed to do some draining
met with this hostile reception. ''Tis gude house-dogs,' said my
guardian of the poultry grimly.

"On hearing that the Irishman had been frightened, I sought him,
expressed to him my regrets, and said that, though big, the dogs were
quite harmless. With ready wit he retorted: 'Begorra, it isn't dogs that
I am afraid of, but your ladyship keeps lions.'"

* * * * *

"Just one more story," cry the children as I cease speaking, and Mrs.
Hamilton points to the clock, as their bedtime is long past. After a few
minutes' pause, I continue:

"The other day I was told of a little girl who attended a distribution
of prizes given by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

"She had won, you must know, a book as a reward for writing the best
essay on the subject given, and, with the other successful children, was
undergoing a _viva voce_ examination.

"'Well, my dear,' said the gentleman who had given away the prizes, 'can
you tell me why it is cruel to dock horses' tails and trim dogs' ears?'
'Because,' answered the little girl, 'what God has joined together let
no man put asunder.'"

An explosion of childish laughter follows my story, and then the little
ones troop up in silence to bed. I sit on, quietly looking into the
fire, and as I sit so the voices of my friends seem to gro