annering"), _Diana_,
_Guy_ (for the same reason), _Shot_, _Hector_, _Ajax_, and _Magpie_.'

"Well, I do think that is a queer list," Peggy concluded, folding up the
letter. "I wish they had called one 'Gray Brother,' or 'Bagheera.'"

"But they are not wolves or panthers," objected Mr. Merryweather. "I
should say that was a very fair list of names, Peggy, as names go. It is
always hard to find a good name for a dog. 'Shot' is an excellent name.
We had a good old dog named Shot, and I have always liked the name."

"Mammy," said Bell, "are we not to hear something from you?"

"From me, my dear?" repeated Mrs. Merryweather. "What would you like to
hear?"

"I should think you were an amiable gramophone," replied her daughter,
with affectionate disrespect. "And I _think_ you really know what I
mean, madam, in spite of that innocent look. On reading your letters,
you and Jerry exclaimed: 'Well, well!' and 'Sapolio!' at the same
instant, and your letters are on the same kind of paper, I cannot help
seeing that. Have you something to break to us? 'Sapolio' is a baleful
utterance, delivered as Jerry delivered it just now."

"Gee! I should think it was!" muttered Gerald, gloomily. He had
brightened up while Peggy was reading her letter, but now his usually
bright face was clouded with unmistakable vexation.

"Oh!" said Mrs. Merryweather, with what seemed a rather elaborately
cheerful expression. "My letter? It is from Cousin Anna Belleville. She
tells me that Claud has been with her at Bar Harbor for some time, and
that he is coming to visit us on his way back. He will be here some day
next week, she thinks."

A certain pensiveness stole over the aspect of the Merryweathers. Bell
and Gertrude exchanged a swift glance, but said nothing. Gerald
whistled, "Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket!"

After a brief silence, Mr. Merryweather said, thoughtfully, "I was
thinking of taking the boys off on a camping trip next week."

"You cannot, Miles," said his wife, quickly. "It is out of the
question."

"Oh, certainly," said Mr. Merryweather. "I only--a--quite so!"

He relapsed into inarticulate murmurs over his pipe. Mrs. Merryweather,
after a reproachful glance at him, turned to Gerald, as she folded her
letter. "You have a letter from Claud, Gerald?" she asked, cheerfully.

"I have, madam," said Gerald, with a brow of thunder. "He informs me
that he is looking forward with the greatest pleasure to roughing it a
bit with us, a