orgot the name of the dog!"

"Was it a dog that a king killed one time," said Doyle, "on account of
his thinking it had his baby ate?"

"It might," said Sabina. "It was a queer name he had on it, and I
disremember what it was."

"I disremember it myself," said Doyle, "but it was likely the same dog
as he was telling me about when I was driving him in. He always did
have a liking for dogs, that same Meldon."

"It might be that one or it might be another. Any way, he thought a
deal of it, for he said to me no later than this minute that if I
mentioned the name of it to you, you wouldn't hunt me."

"Listen to me now, Sabina Gallagher. I'll let you stay on here, though
it's a deal more than you deserve--I'll let you stay on and do the
cooking the same as you used to, on account of the respect I have for
your mother, who is a decent woman, and your father that's dead--I'll
let you stay on if you'll tell me this: What had the dog to do one way
or the other with the paraffin oil you put on the judge's dinner?"

"I never seen the dog; and I don't know that I ever heard tell of any
dog doing the like."

"Then what are you talking to me about the dog for if it didn't do
something, be the same less or more, in the way of helping you to
destroy the judge's dinner?"

"It was Mr. Meldon told me to mention the name of the dog to you. And
I would, I'd do it this minute, only I disremember it."

"Will you ask him the next time he's here, and tell me after, what it
was the dog had to do with the matter?"

"I will, of course, if it's pleasing to you."

"Then you may stay on a bit yet, Sabina. You may stay on till you
learn enough about cooking to be able to better yourself; and it's what
you should be able to do soon with the opportunities that you have in
this house. But I'd like if you could find out about the dog, for Mr.
Meldon was saying a lot about him this morning, and I'd be thankful if
I knew what sort of a dog he was."

CHAPTER XVIII.

Meldon rode rapidly westwards out of the town, in the direction of
Ballymoy House. He swept round the sharp corner and through the
entrance gate at high speed, leaning over sideways at so impressive an
angle that the six Callaghan children, who were standing in the porch
of the gate lodge, cheered enthusiastically. He disappeared from their
view before their shouts subsided, and rushed up the avenue. He
reached the gravel sweep in front of the house, pressed on both