iny Miss Flora sprang suddenly forward to investigate the
visitor.

As though by a preconcerted signal a chair crashed over in the hall
and the wolf hound and the setter and the coach dog came hurtling back
in a furiously cordial onslaught. With wags and growls and yelps of
joy all four dogs met in Flame's lap.

"They seem to like me, don't they?" triumphed Flame. Intermittently
through the melee of flapping ears,--shoving shoulders,--waving paws,
her beaming little face proved the absolute sincerity of that triumph.
"Mother's never let me have any dogs," she confided. "Mother thinks
they're not--Oh, of course, I realize that four dogs is a--a good
many," she hastened diplomatically to concede to a certain sudden
droop around the old Butler's mouth corners.

From his slow, stooping poke of the sulky fire the old Butler glanced
up with a certain plaintive intentness.

"All dogs is too many," he affirmed.

"Come Christmas time I wishes I was dead."

"Wish you were dead ... at Christmas Time?" cried Flame. Acute shock
was in her protest.

"It's the feedin'," sighed the old Butler. "It ain't that I mind
eatin' with them on All Saints' Day or Fourth of July or even Sundays.
But come Christmas Time it seems like I craves to eat with More
Humans.... I got a nephew less'n twenty miles away. He's got cider in
his cellar. And plum puddings. His woman she raises guinea chickens.
And mince pies there is. And tasty gravies.--But me I mixes dog bread
and milk--dog bread and milk--till I can't see nothing--think nothing
but mush. And him with cider in his cellar!... It ain't as though Mr.
Delcote ever came himself to prove anything," he argued. "Not he! Not
Christmas Time! It's travelling he is.... He's had ... misfortunes,"
he confided darkly. "He travels for 'em same as some folks travels for
their healths. Most especially at Christmas Time he travels for his
misfortunes! He ..."

"_Mr. Delcote_?" quickened Flame. "Mr. Delcote?" (Now at last was the
mysterious tenancy about to be divulged?)

"All he says," persisted the old Butler. "All he says is 'Now
Barret,'--that's me, 'Now Barret I trust your honor to see that the
dogs ain't neglected just because it's Christmas. There ain't no
reason, Barret', he says, 'why innocent dogs should suffer Christmas
just because everybody else does. They ain't done nothing.... It won't
do now Barret', he says, 'for you to give 'em their dinner at dawn
when they ain't accustomed to it, a