le to determine if Father Greer deliberately devised this
felicitous amalgamation of the two words that were in his mind, or if
it was unintentional, and an indication that Barty's brief flare of
revolt had flustered him a little. I am inclined to the latter theory.
In any case, the word is a useful one.

CHAPTER XVI

Christian was in the kennels, in their innermost depths. She was, in
fact, seated on the bench of "the ladies" lodging-house, on the dry
and rustling cushion of bracken on which Major Talbot-Lowry bedded his
pack.

Yearning to her, sitting all over her, covering her with their
ponderous affection, were the hounds. Two large ladies had each a head
on each of her shoulders; two more had laid their chins on her knees,
and were gazing raptly into her face. The less favoured stood, and
squeezed, and pushed, and panted, with glowing eyes and waving sterns,
in as close a circle round her as it was possible to form.

"Dearest things!" apostrophised Christian, "I feel like Nero--I wish
you had only one lovely head, so that I might kiss you all at once!"

"Rot!" said Larry, who was leaning against the wall, facing her, and
saying: "Down, you brute!" at intervals, to hounds, who, having failed
to force their way to Christian, were directing their attention to
him, to the detriment of his grey flannel trousers. "And look at your
dress from their filthy paws!"

"Good Gawd, Mr. Larry Sir! Don't say paws! 'Ounds 'ave _feet_"
responded Christian, whose imitation of Cottingham was no less
accurate now than it had been some eight years earlier; "and I don't
care a pin for this old skirt anyway--"

"I'm as fond of hounds as anyone," said Larry, reprovingly, "but I
must say I should draw the line at their licking my face!"

"They don't!" said Christian, indignantly; "that's the beauty of them,
They never lick--except perhaps my darling Nancy, because I nursed her
when she had pneumonia."

"If I were you, Cottingham, I wouldn't let Miss Christian into the
kennels," said Larry, with severity, "she makes lap-dogs of the
hounds!"

Cottingham had joined the party, and was leaning on the half-door of
the kennel, watching his hounds with the never-failing interest of a
good kennel-huntsman.

"I couldn't be too 'ard on Miss Christeen, sir," replied Cottingham;
"her's the best walk I have. That there Nancy was a sickly little
thing enough when I sent 'er to Miss Christeen, and look at 'er now! A
slapping fine bi