lender
chain, to which was attached a dog of the most melancholy countenance,
and a shape that made William grin.

"What are you laughing at?" demanded the lady.

"The dog; if it is a dog."

"And a very good dog it is too."

"Well, I've seen pictures of 'em," said William politely, "but I ain't
never believed it till now."

"Believed what?"

"The face and the shape----"

"There's nothing the matter with the shape," was the tart response;
"Dick's a Daschund."

"A what! Oh! Gee! Say, my tongue always rolls around like it had no
roots when I strike a word like that."

"No wonder; a boy of your age should be at school."

"School! not for mine, lady. I've gotter make a livin'."

"A living--you! What are you doing here?"

"I'm the office boy."

"Office boy! Whose office boy?"

"Mister Whimple's."

"You're a liar," the words were snapped out with a force and directness
that William afterwards declared put him "on the blinks" for a few
seconds.

The only retort that he would have made to one of his own sex rose
swiftly to the boyish lips, and stayed there. He rose--who shall say
what freak of imagination swayed him then--and took a step toward the
lady. His hand went to his cap--in the encounter he had forgotten it
until then--and off it came with a sweeping bow. He was no longer
William, or Willie, or Bill; he was no longer an office boy; this was
not Toronto. Here was the lady of the castle, proud, imperious,
haughty; he was one who served under the banner of her lord. Beyond,
was the great old house, surrounded with stately trees and fine
driveways, and Sir William Adolphus Turnpike, in a voice he did not
know, was saying, "Fair lady, I am thine to command. If I have
offended I prithee forgive; 'twas not my intent, I do assure thee."

And the lady--what half-forgotten dreams came surging to her mind.
Long ago, so long ago, there had been a boy with a heart of gold that
had lost none of its admiration for her when the boy gave place to the
man. But on a far-off border line of the empire he had given his life
for the flag, and out of her life there had gone the dreams of a future
with him. All through the years since then she had held her heart
against those who would have stormed it, and now--and now--she tried to
speak, but her lips were tremulous and her eyes tear-dimmed. She
courtesied low and with grace, and William, who was standing with the
ink-stained fingers of one hand clutching