horror of
cattle, especially black cows.

The service which the dogs rendered to him on this occasion induced the
boy to make advances of a friendly nature, which were met more than
halfway, and the result was the establishment of a good understanding
between the Sudberrys and the collie dogs, which ultimately ripened into
a lasting friendship, insomuch that when the family quitted the place,
Lucy carried away with her a lock of Lively's hair, cut from the pendent
tip of her right ear.

Presently Mr Sudberry pulled out his watch, and, exclaiming that it was
breakfast-time, trotted down the hill, followed by his family and
escorted by the dogs.

We will pause here to describe Mr Sudberry's family briefly.

George was the merchant's eldest son. He was bold, stout, active,
middle-sized, and seventeen years of age; full of energy and life, a
crack rower, a first-rate cricketer, and generally a clever fellow.
George was always jolly.

Fred was about the same height as his brother, two years younger,
slender in form, and gentle in disposition, but active, too, when
occasion required it. His forte was drawing and painting. Fred was
generally quiet and grave. Both brothers were musical.

Lucy had reached the interesting age of sixteen. She was plain,
decidedly, but sweet-tempered in the extreme. Her mouth was good, and
her eyes were good, and her colour was good, but her nose was a snub,--
an undeniable and incurable snub. Her mother had tried to amend it from
the earliest hours of Lucy's existence by pulling the point gently
downwards and pinching up the bridge,--or, rather, the hollow where the
bridge ought to have been,--but all in vain; the infant turned up its
eyes when the operation was going on, and still turned up its nose when
it was over. Yes, although there were many of the elements of beauty
about Lucy, she was plain--but sweet; always bear that in mind. She was
funny too. Not that she made fun of her own free will; but she
appreciated fun in others so intensely that she looked funny herself;
and she giggled. This was her only fault, she giggled. When the spirit
of fun was roused, nothing could stop her. But don't suppose that she
was always giggling; by no means. She was always good and amiable,
often grave, and sometimes deeply serious.

Matilda, commonly called Tilly, was a meek, delicate, pretty little girl
of eight years old. She was charmingly innocent and ignorant. In the
last respec