is own depleting store, her
unspent sum of days. It created in him an animosity which, as he turned
from the window, noted almost with relief faint lines about her mouth, the
sinking of her color.

She was sitting with her eyes shut, the sewing neglected in her lap, and
did not see Mrs. Caley standing in the doorway. The woman's gaze lingered
for a moment, with an unmasked, burning contempt, upon Gordon Makimmon,
then swept on to the girl.

"Lettice!" she exclaimed, in a species of exasperated concern, "don't you
know better than to sit up to all hours?"

IV

The following morning, "Oh, Gordon!" Lettice cried, "I like him ever so
much; he played and played with me."

Gordon had gone to the post-office, and was descending the slope from the
public road to his dwelling. He found Lettice sitting on the edge of the
porch, and, panting vigorously, the dog extended before her, an expression
of idiotic satisfaction on his shaggy face. They were, together, an
epitome of extreme youth; and Gordon's discontent, revived from the night
before, overflowed in facile displeasure.

"Don't you know better than to run him on a warm morning like this?" he
complained; "as like as not now he'll take a fit; young dogs mustn't get
their blood heated up."

The animation died from her countenance, leaving it almost sullen, her
shoulders drooped dejectedly. "It seems nothing suits you," she observed;
"you're cross when I don't like the dog and you're cross when I do. I
can't satisfy you, anyhow."

"There's some difference in making over the dog and playing him out. Come
here, General Jackson." The animal rose and yapped, backing playfully
away. "Don't you hear me? Come right here." The dog, sensitive to the
growing menace in the voice, moved still further away. "C'm here, damn
you," Gordon shot out. The dog grew stubborn, and refused to move forward;
and Gordon, his anger thoroughly aroused, picked up a large stone and
threw it with all his force, missing General Jackson by a narrow margin.

"It seems to me," Lettice observed in a studiously detached voice, "I
wouldn't throw stones at a dog I had paid two hundred dollars for."

Gordon was momentarily disconcerted. He had not intended to tell Lettice
how much the General had cost. And yet, he reflected, since the village
knew, with Sim Caley's wife in the house, it had been folly to hope to
keep it from her.

"It's his pedigree," he explained lamely; "champion stock, imported