e man,--

"Is Sir James at home?"

"Yes, miss; he is in the stables, I think; leastways, he was half an
hour agone. Shall I tell him you are here?"

"No, thank you. I shall go and find him myself."

See flings her reins to her own groom, and, with Bill trotting at her
heels, goes round to the yard, glad, at least, that her first hope is
fulfilled,--that he is out of doors.

As she goes through the big portals into the ivied yard, she sees
before her one of the stablemen on his knees, supporting in his arms
an injured puppy: with all a woman's tenderness he is examining the
whining little brute's soft, yellow paw, as it hangs mournfully
downwards.

Sir James, with a pipe in his mouth,--this latter fact Clarissa hails
with rapture,--is also bending anxiously over the dog, and is so
absorbed in his contemplation of it as not to notice Clarissa's
approach until she is close beside him.

"What is the matter with the poor little thing?" she asks, earnestly,
gazing with deep pity at the poor puppy, that whines dismally and
glances up at her with the peculiarly tearful appealing expression
that belongs to setters.

"A knock of a stone, miss, nayther more nor less," exclaims the man,
angrily. "That's the honest truth, Sir James, you take my word for't.
Some o' them rascally boys as is ever and allus about this 'ere yard,
and spends their lives shyin' stones at every blessed sign they sets
their two eyes on, has done this. 'Ere's one o' the best pups o' the
season a'most ruined, and no satisfaction for it. It's a meracle if he
comes round (quiet there, my beauty, and easy there now, I tell ye),
and nobody does anything."

The old man stops, and regards his master reprovingly, nay, almost
contemptuously.

"I really don't see why you should think it was the boys, Joe?" says
Sir James, meekly.

"'Twarn't anythin' else, anyway," persists Joe, doggedly.

"Poor little fellow!--dear fellow!" murmurs Miss Peyton, caressingly,
to the great soft setter pup, patting its head lovingly, as it barks
madly, and makes frantic efforts to get from Joe's arms to hers, while
Bill shrieks in concert, being filled with an overwhelming amount of
sympathy.

"Better leave him to me, miss," says Joe, regarding the injured
innocent with a parent's eye. "He knows me. I'll treat him proper,"
raising his old honest weather-beaten face to Clarissa, in a solemn
reassuring manner, "you be bound. Yet them pups" (disgustedly) "is
like children,