did not know that this was a habit of all young
children and a sign of material enjoyment; but she was just beginning
to worry about her stool and the damage he would do it, when her
attention was diverted to Sir Christopher.

He had licked feebly, and half disdainfully, at his own saucer of
cream, then curled himself round upon the towel beside it. But he
could not lie still. Up and down, around and about, he turned and
twisted, and all the time emitting groans that clearly bespoke
distress of some sort, and that his mistress fancied were almost human
in tone.

"Why, my blessed doggie! What ails him, the dear? Is he sick? Does he
ache all over? Tell Miss Lucy, Chrissy, tell what is wrong with her
pet!"

"Why!" cried Molly, aghast. "Why! you talk to him just as mother does
to Ivanora or Idelia! Does he understand you? Can he tell?"

"Yes. He understands. But there's something seriously wrong with him.
He was never so bad as this. Ring for one of the girls, child. Ring at
once."

Molly knew nothing about bells. In her own little home of six rooms
there was no bell at all except one at the front door, and she looked
around in some perplexity, wishing to obey but not knowing how.

"Stupid!" cried Miss Lucy, springing toward the wall and touching the
button which sent an electric signal to the basement of the house;
then, as Mary returned from her errand to Side Street, demanding
anxiously:

"What have you been giving Sir Christopher?"

"Why, nothing, ma'am, but his regular food."

"Did he take his oatmeal this morning as he should?"

"No, ma'am. He never takes it if he can help. He hates it; and when I
tried to force him to-day, he was that sharp and snappish I was
afraid. There's a deal of hydrophobia about, I'm hearing."

"Hydrophobia? Nonsense. What else has he had?"

"I really couldn't say, ma'am."

"Somebody must say. Call the cook."

When Chloe's black face showed in the parting of the door curtains
Miss Lucy hurled her excited inquiries into the placid countenance.

"Chloe, what have you been giving Sir Christopher? against my orders,
for nobody except myself and Mary is ever to feed him. What is it?
Don't be so slow. It is important I should know. I may be able to
save his life if he is in danger. What? Eh?"

"Well, ma'am," drawled the negress, in her leisurely way which nothing
could alter, "I dunno as I've guv him anything to speak of. Nothing
wuth mentioning, leastways. Just a little of that