to the house at all.

"There's something else I'd like you to see," said Linda, taking
Sylvia's arm, and leading her on to the lawn again, then through a
small door into the kitchen garden, a delightful walled enclosure,
full of currant and gooseberry bushes, young apple trees, early
vegetables, and pot herbs, with patches of pinks, pansies, and
forget-me-nots growing in between, and great fragrant bushes of
rosemary, lavender, and southernwood, which smelled most delicious
when the children rubbed them between their hands. In a corner under a
blossoming syringa was a little grave, with a small tombstone at its
head, on which was roughly carved the following inscription:

IN LOVING MEMORY OF
JOCK
THE BEST AND MOST FAITHFUL DOG THAT EVER LIVED
Died February 27, 1907
Aged 8 Years.

"It needs cleaning up and weeding," said Linda. "We always keep it
very tidy when we're at home, but of course, when the boys are away
too, there's nobody to look after it. It's rather nicely done, isn't
it?"

"Very," said Sylvia. "Who did it?"

"Oswald. He's clever with his hands, and he chipped it out with a
chisel. It took him a frightfully long time, but he said Jock
deserved it. We couldn't let him be forgotten."

"What kind of a dog was he?"

"I'm afraid he was only a mongrel; he was big, and grey, and shaggy,
but we thought him lovely. There never was another so nice."

"Not even Scamp?"

"No, not quite. Jock was such a friend, and so obedient and gentle. We
got him from a farm when he was a tiny puppy; the farmer was just
going to drown him, but Oswald begged so hard to be allowed to keep
him instead, that Mother said he might. Our nurse was quite angry at
first; she said he'd be as much trouble as another child to look
after, but he was so good, she soon grew fond of him, and he used to
live in the nursery. Artie was a baby then, and Jock would keep guard
over his cradle, or watch him when he was put to roll on a rug in the
garden, and no matter how much Artie pulled his hair, he never dreamt
of biting. He used to sleep on the mat at the door of our bedroom, and
the first thing in the morning he'd come running in, wagging his tail.

"One summer we went to stay at Llandudno, and Mother said we musn't take
Jock with us, because the people at the lodgings wouldn't care to have
him. We were dreadfully sorry to leave him behind, and I'm sure he