art. To begin with, she did not like being kissed by strangers; and
secondly, if the said strangers happened to possess moustaches, it made
their offence the greater. Mr. Forester was a stranger, and, moreover,
was the proud owner of a long and silky moustache, so Marjory felt that
she had some excuse for her resentment.

"'Don't like being called a gypsy, and don't like being kissed' written
large all over her face--eh, Blanche?" said Mr. Forester mischievously.

"Papa, you are a horrid tease. Go away and leave us in peace. I don't
wonder Marjory doesn't like your nasty, tickly kisses."

"Oh dear, please don't send me away," he said in mock dismay. "Mayn't I
stay if I promise to be very, very good?"

"You must ask Marjory."

Marjory's reply was to burst out laughing.

"Ah, that's better," said Mr. Forester. "Now we're all quite happy. Sit
down, both of you, and listen to me."

The girls obeyed, and Mr. Forester continued,--

"Guess what I brought from Morristown to-day?"

"Sweets!" cried Blanche.

"No. Guess again."

"Anything to eat?"

"I should be very sorry to eat it, but some people might like to."

"Lesson books," hazarded Marjory.

"No; nothing so useful, I'm afraid."

"Does mother know?"

"No. Nobody knows but me."

"Oh, do tell us, papa."

"Well, you are a pair of duffers. I thought you would have been sure to
guess, but I'll go and fetch it."

Mr. Forester returned carrying a small hamper. There was straw poking
out of it in places, and it was labelled, "This side up, with care."

"Oh, it's a new tea-set for the schoolroom," cried Blanche. "Mother said
we needed one."

"No, it's not a new tea-set for the schoolroom, Miss Clever. There's a
new pupil, and that's quite enough for any schoolroom. You're no good as
a guesser, and yet you've been worrying my life out for weeks about this
very thing."

Mr. Forester meanwhile was untying the string which fastened down the
lid of the hamper. He slowly raised it, and there, curled up in the
straw, lay a little black retriever puppy, its baby face puckered up
partly in fear and partly in interest over this new experience.

"What a perfect little darling!" cried Blanche. "Oh, isn't he sweet? But
how could you say some people might like to eat him, papa?"

"Well, I've heard of the Chinese eating puppy-dog stew; it comes after
birds'-nest soup, you know."

"Papa!" indignantly.

Mr. Forester lifted the little fellow out of the basket and set