e misery of a weak, helpless, dumb creature
is surely one of the saddest of all the mournful sights which this
world can show. I lifted the poor dog in my arms as gently as I could,
and contrived a sort of make-shift hammock for him to lie in, by
gathering up the front of my dress all round him. In this way I took
the creature, as painlessly as possible, and as fast as possible, back
to the house.

Finding no one in the hall I went up at once to my own sitting-room,
made a bed for the dog with one of my old shawls, and rang the bell.
The largest and fattest of all possible house-maids answered it, in a
state of cheerful stupidity which would have provoked the patience of a
saint. The girl's fat, shapeless face actually stretched into a broad
grin at the sight of the wounded creature on the floor.

"What do you see there to laugh at?" I asked, as angrily as if she had
been a servant of my own. "Do you know whose dog it is?"

"No, miss, that I certainly don't." She stooped, and looked down at the
spaniel's injured side--brightened suddenly with the irradiation of a
new idea--and pointing to the wound with a chuckle of satisfaction,
said, "That's Baxter's doings, that is."

I was so exasperated that I could have boxed her ears. "Baxter?" I
said. "Who is the brute you call Baxter?"

The girl grinned again more cheerfully than ever. "Bless you, miss!
Baxter's the keeper, and when he finds strange dogs hunting about, he
takes and shoots 'em. It's keeper's dooty miss, I think that dog will
die. Here's where he's been shot, ain't it? That's Baxter's doings,
that is. Baxter's doings, miss, and Baxter's dooty."

I was almost wicked enough to wish that Baxter had shot the housemaid
instead of the dog. Seeing that it was quite useless to expect this
densely impenetrable personage to give me any help in relieving the
suffering creature at our feet, I told her to request the housekeeper's
attendance with my compliments. She went out exactly as she had come
in, grinning from ear to ear. As the door closed on her she said to
herself softly, "It's Baxter's doings and Baxter's dooty--that's what
it is."

The housekeeper, a person of some education and intelligence,
thoughtfully brought upstairs with her some milk and some warm water.
The instant she saw the dog on the floor she started and changed colour.

"Why, Lord bless me," cried the housekeeper, "that must be Mrs.
Catherick's dog!"

"Whose?" I asked, in the u