't beat him for it; he'll soon
forget me."

The tears came into her eyes as she wrote it; it seemed to her so very
pathetic. She did not quite believe that Alcibiades would soon forget
her--but if he did----?

The note did not lack pathos, either, in the eyes of Captain Graeme,
when, two hours later, he found it under the chin of a mournfully
howling Alcibiades, securely attached by picture wire to the railings of
his mother's house.

The Captain took a turn on the Heath, and thought. And his thoughts were
these: "She's the prettiest girl I've seen since I came home. It's
deuced dull here. Shouldn't wonder if she's dull too, poor little girl."

Then he went home and cut a glove in pieces and sewed the pieces
together, slowly but solidly as soldiers and sailors do sew. So that
when, two nights later, the claws and the voice of Alcibiades roused
Judy from sleep--her aunt most fortunately slept on the other side of
the house--she found, after the first rapturous hug of reunion, a
something under the hand that caressed the neck of Alcibiades.

The gaslight in her own room defined the something as a bag of leather,
the tan leather of which gentlemen's gloves are made. There was a bit of
worn strap hanging below it. Within was a note.

"A thousand thanks for bringing him home. If he _should_ run
away again, please let me know. And don't trouble to send him
back. I'll call for him, if I may.

"RICHARD GRAEME."

Judy would very much have liked to let Captain Graeme call, but there
are such things as aunts.

She tied another note to the "cur's" collar and wired him once more to
the Paragon House railings. The note said:

"It's no use. He can bite through leather. Do use a chain."

Next time Alcibiades returned he dragged a half yard of fine chain. It
was neatly filed, but Judy was a woman and the detail escaped her.

That morning she and Alcibiades slept late, the dressing-bell was
ringing as she woke.

The cook helped; the Aunt most fortunately had a luncheon engagement
with a Tabby in Sidcup. Alcibiades being promised a walk later,
consented to wait, trifling with a bone, in silence and the coal cellar.
At eleven Judy rewarded his patience. She went out with him, and somehow
it seemed wise to put on a pleasant-coloured dress, and one's best furs
and one's prettiest hat.

"I am afraid I shall see him," she told herself; "but," she added, "I am
mu