in my lap when they were a few hours old. Judy let me handle them.
You should see Eileen's face of disgust as I sat on the horse-block in
the stable-yard with my arms full of them."

"I can see it!" Lady O'Gara said, with a queer little smile.

The day had been one of heavy showers, between which a pale sun came
out and gilt the dappled golds and browns of the woods, and set up a
rainbow bridge on the rain cloud that had passed over. They had left
the house in a fair interval. They were within sight of the Waterfall
Cottage, within hearing of the water as it fell over the weir, when the
heavy drops began to patter. They ran the intervening space, Lady
O'Gara laughing like a girl. It was the girlishness in her that made
girls love her society, while they adored her in her own proper place.

As they passed the window of Mrs. Wade's cottage, where it showed
beyond the iron railing, Lady O'Gara glanced that way. The interior of
the room was no longer visible to the casual passer-by. Curtains were
drawn across it, but through the parting of the curtains one caught a
glimpse of fire-light. It would be a pleasant rosy window in the
desolate road when the lamps were lit. But probably Mrs. Wade
shuttered her window against the night, although the barred opening in
the wall, designed to give light to the window, was well protected by
its bristling spikes atop.

The gate was padlocked. They remained shaking it long enough to make
them fearful that they would have to turn back before Mrs. Wade came
flying down the avenue to open to them.

"I am so sorry I kept you waiting," she said, panting: "I had just gone
into the house when you came. I have been so busy getting my garden
into order."

She was stooping in the act of unlocking the gate. A pale shaft of
watery sunlight came and lay on her hair, showing how thick and soft it
was, how closely it grew. The sun was in her eyes, dazzling, and on
her cheek, making it pale. She took the hand Lady O'Gara extended to
her, without looking at Stella.

"This is your little dog, Mrs. Wade," Stella said, not waiting to be
introduced. "Now isn't he a darling? I think myself he's the pick of
the basket, although Patsy Kenny says he's a disgrace to the place,
with that old white waistcoat making a holy show of him."

Mrs. Wade looked at her, shading her eyes with her hand.

"Thank you, miss," she said humbly. "I'm sure he'll be a dear little
dog and a great companion."