tall and----" She led him away. "Look here," she said, "I'm sure you're
a decent sort. Here's the money to pay for him. My aunt says if I don't
sell him she'll have him killed. Will you keep him for me till my people
come home? Oh, do--he really _is_ an angel. And give me your name and
address. You must think me a maniac, but I am so horribly fond of him.
Will you?"

"Of course I will," he said heartily, "but I shall pay for him. I'll
write a cheque: you can pay me when you get him back. Thank you--yes, I
am sure that pin-cushion would delight my aunt."

Judy, with burning cheeks, found her way back to her stall.

"Oh, Alcibiades," she said, unfastening the blue ribbon, "I'm sure he's
nice. Don't bite him, there's a dear!"

A cheque signed "Richard Graeme" and a card with an address came into
Judy's hands, and the chain of Alcibiades left them.

"I know you'll be good to him," she said; "don't give him meat, only
biscuit, and sulphur in his drinking water. But you know all that.
You've got me out of a frightful hole, and I'll bless you as long as I
live. Good-bye." She stooped to the Aberdeen, now surprised and pained.
"Good-bye, my dear old boy!"

And Alcibiades, stubborn resistance in every line of his figure, in
every hair of his coat, was dragged away through the crowded bazaar.

Judy went to bed very tired. The bazaar had been a success, and the
success had been talked over and the money counted till late in the
evening--nearly eleven, that is, which is late for Tabbies--yet she woke
at four. Some one was calling her. It was--no, he was gone--her eyes
pricked at the thought--yet--surely that could be the voice of no other
than Alcibiades? She sat up in bed and listened. It was he! That was his
dear voice whining at the side gate. Those were his darling paws
scratching the sacred paint off it.

Judy swept down the stairs like a silent whirlwind, turned key, drew
bolts, and in a moment she and the cur were "sobbing in each other's
arms."

She carried him up to her room, washed his dear, muddy paws, and spread
her golf cape that he might lie on the bed beside her.

In chilliest, earliest dawn she rose and dressed. She found a wire that
had supported her pictures at the bazaar, and she wrote a note and tied
it to the collar of Alcibiades, where she noticed and untied a frayed
end of rope. This was the note:

"He has run home to me. Why did you take the chain off? He
always bites through cord. Don