he rug in abject terror. The coast had purposely been left
clear, and Dan was out with the rest of the family.

Presently one looked in, and passed sentence without more ado: "Oh, you
poor, miserable, shrunken little thing. We can't keep a dog like that--it
is impossible!"

Later, Dan appeared. The young dog got up, went respectfully towards him,
and licked him deliberately upon the lips. Dan wagged his tail. They were
friends. Then once again the newcomer crept on his stomach to the corner
of the hearthrug, and remained there cringing when any one went near.
What did it all mean?

Nor were matters any better when the household retired for the night: in
truth, they were much worse. The most mysterious sounds ascended from the
lower floor, and grew steadily in volume. They woke one and then another,
till at last they drew some one from her bed. Such unearthly groans had
rarely before been heard from throat of living thing. Of course it was
the "new dog," as he had already come to be called, for he surely was not
worthy of a name.

A conference was held next day as to what could possibly be done, though
with the usual result that some said one thing, some another, and nothing
was definitely decided on. Had the matter been put to the vote, the dog
would almost certainly have been forthwith returned from whence he came,
in spite of a remark from one quarter that such a course might result in
something serious.

"'Give a dog a bad name...' We all know the rest. To return this dog is
for him almost certainly to be shot--at least, I wouldn't give a penny
for his life."

Murphy meanwhile lay curled up tight on his corner of the hearthrug, with
his eyes wide open, watching every movement intently. Dan said nothing,
and went his way, voting the house to be upside down.

That day passed without improvement, though every effort was made and a
walk was taken in the fields: the night, the stranger spent in company,
for he appeared to have a dread of being left alone. The day following
matters were unfortunately made worse. It is the fate of many who are
down to find themselves trodden on: the lucky meet with luck; the
unlucky, more often, with misfortune. The world is full of remarkably
strange ordinances; or rather, it might be said, life is replete with
incidents that are often the last wished for. From him that hath not
shall be taken away, not alone that which he hath, but even that also
which "he seemeth to have." So be