ward.

"Thank ye, Lady," said he, "thank ye for what ye said about Snatchet.
Ain't he a pink peach of a dorg, Ma'm?"

Ann inclined her head gently, glancing dubiously over the yellow pup.
She could not openly admit that Snatchet resembled anything beautiful
she had ever seen, when the boy, his lips twitching with agony, held his
pet up toward her.

"Ye can take him, Ma'm," groaned Flukey. "He only bites bad 'uns like
Lem Crabbe."

Snatchet, feeling the importance of the moment, lifted his head and shot
forth a slavering tongue. As it came in contact with her fingers, Miss
Shellington drew back a little. She had been used to slender-limbed,
soft-coated dogs; this small, shivering mongrel, touching her flesh with
a tongue roughly beaded, sent a tremor of disgust over her. Flea stepped
forward, took Snatchet from her brother, and tucked him away under the
arm opposite the one Squeaky occupied.

"Ye'll go to the barn, Fluke," she said, "and ye'll go damn quick! The
lady'll let ye, and Snatchet'll go with ye. Squeaky sleeps with me."

Ann coughed embarrassedly. "Children," she began, "we couldn't let the
dog and pig sleep in the house; neither could we allow you to sleep in
the barn. So, if you will let the coachman take your pets, I'll see that
you, Boy, go into a warm bed, and you," Ann turned to Flea, "must have
some supper and other clothes. Your brother is very ill, I believe, and
I think we ought to have a doctor."

Flea pricked up her ears, and a sad smile crossed her lips. "Ye mean,
Ma'm," said she, "that Flukey can sleep in a real bed and have doctor's
liniments for his bones?"

Ann nodded. "Yes. Now then hurry!... Look at that poor little boy!"

Flukey was on his knees, leaning against the wall, his feverish fingers
clutching his curls.

"Horace! Horace!" called Ann.

Shellington opened the dining-room door and went out hurriedly, leaving
Everett Brimbecomb and Katherine Vandecar still surveying the
disarranged table.

"It all seems strange to me, Katherine; I mean--this," said Everett,
waving his hand. "I scarcely believed Horace when he said he had allowed
it."

As he spoke, he approached the table and lifted the soiled cloth between
his fingers.

"You can see for yourself," he said, "the marks of the pig's feet on the
linen."

Katherine examined the spots. "But it really doesn't matter, does it?"
she said. "The poor little animals were hungry, and Horace has such a
big heart!" and she sighed