blazed on foliage plants arranged geometrically, on scarlet
stars composed of geraniums, on thickets of tall flame-tinted cannas.
And around this triumph of landscape gardening, phaeton, Tilbury,
Mercedes, and Toledo backed, circled, tooted; gaily gowned women, whips
aslant, horses dancing, greeted expected guests; laughing young men
climbed into dog-carts and took the reins from nimble grooms; young
girls, extravagantly veiled, made room in comfortable touring-cars for
feminine guests whose extravagant veils were yet to be unpacked; slim
young men in leather trappings, caps adorned with elaborate masks or
goggles, manipulated rakish steering-gears; preoccupied machinists were
fussing with valve and radiator or were cranking up; and, through the
jolly tumult, the melancholy bell of the locomotive sounded, and the
long train moved out through the September sunshine amid clouds of snowy
steam.

And all this time the young man, gun case in one hand, suit case in
the other, looked about him in his good-humoured, leisurely manner
for anybody or any vehicle which might be waiting for him. His amiable
inspection presently brought a bustling baggage-master within range of
vision; and he spoke to this official, mentioning his host's name.

"Lookin' for Mr. Ferrall?" repeated the baggage-master, spinning a trunk
dexterously into rank with its fellows. "Say, one of Mr. Ferrall's
men was here just now--there he is, over there uncrating that there
bird-dog!"

The young man's eyes followed the direction indicated by the grimy
thumb; a red-faced groom in familiar livery was kneeling beside a dog's
travelling crate, attempting to unlock it, while behind the bars an
excited white setter whined and thrust forth first one silky paw then
the other.

The young man watched the scene for a moment, then:

"Are you one of Mr. Ferrall's men?" he asked in his agreeable voice.

The groom looked up, then stood up:

"Yis, Sorr."

"Take these; I'm Mr. Siward--for Shotover House. I dare say you have
room for me and the dog, too."

The groom opened his mouth to speak, but Siward took the crate key from
his fingers, knelt, and tried the lock. It resisted. From the depths of
the crate a beseeching paw fell upon his cuff.

"Certainly, old fellow," he said soothingly, "I know how you feel
about it; I know you're in a hurry--and we'll have you out in a
second--steady, boy!--something's jammed, you see! Only one moment now!
There you are!"

Th