ead of
from the birth of Christ. It is certain that they were much better
versed in the history of the Association than in that of the Union, in
the biography of Excelsior rather than that of Lincoln. The Dog Show was
another event to which they looked forward, when they migrated to New
York and put up at the country places of their friends. But why go
farther?

The Ten made themselves very much at home at Mohair. One of them told
the Celebrity he reminded him very much of a man he had met in New York
and who had written a book, or something of that sort, which made the
Celebrity wince. The afternoon was spent in one of the stable lofts,
where Mr. Cooke had set up a mysterious L-shaped box, in one arm of which
a badger was placed by a groom, while my client's Sarah, a terrier, was
sent into the other arm to invite the badger out. His objections
exceeded the highest hopes; he dug his claws into the wood and devoted
himself to Sarah's countenance with unremitting industry. This
occupation was found so absorbing that it was with difficulty the Ten
were induced to abandon it and dress for an early dinner, and only did so
after the second peremptory message from Mrs. Cooke.

"It's always this way," said Mr. Cooke, regretfully, as he watched Sarah
licking the accessible furrows in her face; "I never started in on
anything worth doing yet that Maria did not stop it."

Farrar and I were not available for the dance, and after dinner we looked
about for a quiet spot in which to weather it, and where we could be
within reach if needed. Such a place as this was the Florentine
galleried porch, which ran along outside the upper windows of the
ball-room; these were flung open, for the night was warm. At one end of
the room the musicians, imported from Minneapolis by Mr. Cooke, were
striking the first discordant notes of the tuning, while at the other the
Celebrity and my client, in scarlet hunting-coats, were gravely
instructing the Ten, likewise in scarlet hunting-coats, as to their
conduct and functions. We were reviewing these interesting proceedings
when Mrs. Cooke came hurrying towards us. She held a letter in her hand.

"You know," said she, "that Mr. Cooke is forgetful, particularly when his
mind is occupied with important matters, as it has been for some time.
Here is a letter from my niece, Miss Thorn, which he has carried in his
pocket since Monday. We expected her two weeks ago, and had given her
up. But it seems she wa