f iron poles and galvanised wire. It
was roofed in with wire also, for the convenience of stretching a
tarpaulin in wet weather. Here it was that he bestowed the strange
being rescued from the down.

It was clever, I think, of Beckwith to infer that what Strap had shown
respect for would be respected by the greyhound, and certainly bold of
him to act upon his inference. However, events proved that he had been
perfectly right. Bran, the greyhound, was interested, highly
interested in his guest. The moment he saw his master he saw what he
was carrying. "Quiet, Bran, quiet there," was a very unnecessary
adjuration. Bran stretched up his head and sniffed, but went no
further; and when Beckwith had placed his burden on the straw inside
the kennel, Bran lay down, as if on guard, outside the opening and put
his muzzle on his forepaws. Again Beckwith noticed that curious
appearance of the eyes which the fox-terrier's had made already.
Bran's eyes were turned upward to show the narrow arcs of white.

Before he went to bed, he tells us, but not before Mrs. Beckwith had
gone there, he took out a bowl of bread and milk to his patient. Bran
he found to be still stretched out before the entry; the girl was
nestled down in the straw, as if asleep or prepared to be so, with her
face upon her hand. Upon an after-thought he went back for a clean
pocket handkerchief, warm water and a sponge. With these, by the light
of a candle, he washed the wound, dipped the rag in hazeline, and
applied it. This done, he touched the creature's head, nodded a good
night and retired. "She smiled at me very prettily," he says. "That
was the first time she did it."

There was no blood on the handkerchief which he had removed.

Early in the morning following upon the adventure Beckwith was out and
about. He wished to verify the overnight experiences in the light of
refreshed intelligence. On approaching the kennel he saw at once that
it had been no dream. There, in fact, was the creature of his
discovery playing with Bran the greyhound, circling sedately about
him, weaving her arms, pointing her toes, arching her graceful neck,
stooping to him, as if inviting him to sport, darting away--"like a
fairy," says Beckwith, "at her magic, dancing in a ring." Bran, he
observed, made no effort to catch her, but crouched rather than sat,
as if ready to spring. He followed her about with his eyes as far as
he could; but when the course of her dance took her immedia