Njal was one of her own. He would not make
friends with the dairymen nor with the coachman, and though he showed
an occasional interest in the horses, he utterly ignored the cows and
calves whose guardian he was intended to be. Even now, in defiance of
social distinctions, he dashed into the house, which, as we came
hurrying up behind him, resounded with the reproachful voices of the
maids.

"Njal, get out! You know you're not allowed in here."

"Njal, jump down off that bed this minute. The impudence of him!"

"Njal, drop that ball. It doesn't belong to you. Be off to the barn."

The maids, aided by Njal's brothers and sisters, who struck me as
officious, had just succeeded in chasing him out as we came to the
door, but he flashed past us, tail erect, enthusiastically bent on
greeting his glorious sire, who was majestically pacing up to
investigate this unseemly commotion.

"Poor Njal! Even more than the rest, he idolizes his father," said the
Lady of Cedar Hill, as Ralph met his son with a growl and a cuff.

Crestfallen at last, Njal trotted back to his mistress and stood gazing
up at her with great, amber eyes, that held, if ever eyes did, wounded
love and a beseeching for comfort. She stroked his head, but bade one
of the maids fetch a leash and take him back where he belonged.

I glanced at Joy-of-Life. That glance was all she had been waiting for.

"Njal is my dog," she said.

"What! Not Njal!" protested the Lady of Cedar Hill. "Why, in the count
of collie points----"

"But I'm not looking for a dog to keep me supplied with blue ribbons. I
want a friend. Njal has a soul."

The Lady of Cedar Hill bent a doubtful glance on me.

"Oh, we've just settled that," smiled Joy-of-Life. "She would rather
have him than all the other eight."

So it was that on the last day of June, 1903, we drove again to Cedar
Hill to bring our collie home.

"It's a queer choice," laughed our hostess, as she poured tea, "but at
least you need not put yourselves out for him. He is used to the barn,
and a box of straw in your cellar will be quite good enough for Njal."

She rang for more cream. No maid appeared. Surprised, she rang again,
sharply. Still no response. One of the ever numerous guests rose and
went out to the kitchen. She came back laughing.

"All the maids are kneeling around Njal, disputing as to whose ribbon
becomes him best and worshiping him as if he were the golden calf. And
really William has given an amaz