cquaintance, who should have approached too inquisitively the
little family.

"There, there, pet; all right, my Tara girl," murmured the man, as
he stepped back softly to his table, to return a moment later with
a dish of warm milk and water, which the slightly rested mother
drank with forethoughtful eagerness, though the effort necessary
for lapping in that constrained position, and without disturbing
the little ones beside her, was far from pleasant, and far enough
from personal inclination.

Ten minutes later the dam very gently changed her position, all
idea of rest having left her now, and proceeded systematically to
lick, first her own swollen dugs, and then the little featureless
faces of her offspring, with many small encouraging muzzle-thrusts
and undulations of her sinuous frame; while the Master (ready to
give assistance if that were required, but too knowledgeable in
these matters to wish to hasten Nature, or botch the delicate
handiwork of the mother) stood in the shadow of his big table,
watching and waiting. Within another few minutes the five pups were
immersed in the most important affair of life (from their point of
view) and, with wriggling tails and tiny, heaving flanks, with
impatient, out-thrust, pink fore-feet, wet faces, and gaping little
jaws, were nursing in a row like clock-work.

The mother turned a proud, filmy eye in the direction of her
friend, the Master, and allowed her massive head to fall on its
side, her whole great form outstretched to reap the benefit of a
few more minutes of needed repose.

"Good girl!" whispered the Master; and stepping backward, he turned
yet lower than it was the wick of his shaded lamp. "Good!
Excellent! Five's a very good number. I should have been sorry to
see a big litter, for dear old Tara. And, anyhow, that last one,
the grey, is about equal to any two I ever saw; an immense whelp;
dog for sure, and a giant at that."

The Master lay down to sleep presently, on the couch with the
'possum-skin rug; and before many hours of the June daylight had
passed, he had verified his impressions of that last-born son of
Tara's as a grey-brindle, and the biggest whelp of its age that he
had ever seen. For purposes of registration in the books of the
Kennel Club--The Debrett of the dog world--the late-comer was
forthwith christened by the Mistress of the Kennels, under the name
of Finn, in honour of the memory of the fourth-century warrior
Finn, son of Cumall, lor