ty to produce
the envelope, he might expose himself to the suspicion of having some
knowledge of the contents. When would Winterfield notice the side table,
and open his letters?

The tick-tick of the clock on the mantel-piece steadily registered the
progress of time, and Winterfield's fantastic attentions were still
lavished on his dog.

Even Father Benwell's patience was sorely tried when the good country
gentleman proceeded to mention not only the spaniel's name, but the
occasion which had suggested it. "We call him Traveler, and I will
tell you why. When he was only a puppy he strayed into the garden at
Beaupark, so weary and footsore that we concluded he had come to us from
a great distance. We advertised him, but he was never claimed--and here
he is! If you don't object, we will give Traveler a treat to-day. He
shall have dinner with us."

Perfectly understanding those last words, the dog jumped off his
master's lap, and actually forwarded the views of Father Benwell in
less than a minute more. Scampering round and round the room, as an
appropriate expression of happiness, he came into collision with the
side table and directed Winterfield's attention to the letters by
scattering them on the floor.

Father Benwell rose politely, to assist in picking up the prostrate
correspondence. But Traveler was beforehand with him. Warning the
priest, with a low growl, not to interfere with another person's
business, the dog picked up the letters in his mouth, and carried
them by installments to his master's feet. Even then, the exasperating
Winterfield went no further than patting Traveler. Father Benwell's
endurance reached its limits. "Pray don't stand on ceremony with me," he
said. "I will look at the newspaper while you read your letters."

Winterfield carelessly gathered the letters together, tossed them on the
dining table at his side, and took the uppermost one of the little heap.

Fate was certainly against the priest on that evening. The first letter
that Winterfield opened led him off to another subject of conversation
before he had read it to the end. Father Benwell's hand, already in his
coat pocket, appeared again--empty.

"Here's a proposal to me to go into Parliament," said the Squire. "What
do you think of representative institutions, Father Benwell? To my mind,
representative institutions are on their last legs. Honorable Members
vote away more of our money every year. They have no alternative between