is hearers all real and
deadly earnest. His words came painfully, from a dry throat; the effort
twisted him in bodily contortions pitiful to see; the sweat stood on
his handsome young forehead--the brow of a tortured Apollo. And the
circle of listeners bent forward to the tale, eager, absorbed, helping
out his agony with groans and horrified murmurs. They held their
breath, and when he reached the crisis, and in a gush of words related
his deliverance--casting up both arms and drawing one long shuddering
breath--they could almost see the bonds burst on the muscles of his
magnificent chest, and broke afresh into exultant cries: "Glory!"
"Hallelujah!" "The Blood--the Blood!" while the shepherd in the
ingle-nook slowly knocked out the ashes of his pipe against the heel of
his boot. He was a free-thinker, an ex-Chartist, and held himself aloof
from these emotions, though privileged, as an old retainer, to watch
them. His face was impassive as a carved idol's.

The young giant dropped back into his chair, and doubtless a second
spiritual gust was preparing to shake the company--you could feel it in
the air--when Godolphus intervened. That absurd animal, abashed by a
series of snubbings, probably saw a chance to rehabilitate himself.
For certain during the last few minutes he had been growing excited,
sitting up with bright eyes, and opening and shutting his mouth as in a
dumb effort at barking. Now, to the amazement of all, including the
sheep-dogs, he lifted himself upon his hind legs and began to gyrate
slowly.

Everyone stared. In the tension nobody yet laughed, although Tilda,
throwing a glance toward the chimney-corner, saw the shepherd's jaw
relax in a grin. Her head yet swam. She felt a spell upon her that
must be broken now or never.

"'Dolph!" she called, and wondered at the shrill sound of her own voice.
"'Dolph!" She was standing erect, crooking her arm. The dog dropped on
his fore-paws, crouched, and sprang through the hoop she made for him;
crouched, sprang back again, alighted, and broke into a paean of
triumphant yelps.

Tilda was desperate now. With a happy inspiration she waved her hand to
the ancient jack against the wall, and 'Dolph sprang for it, though he
understood the command only. But he was a heavy dog, and as the rusty
machine began to revolve under his weight, his wits jumped to the
meaning of it, and he began to run like a turnspit demented.

"Faster! 'Dolph!"

The Minister h