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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
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