. '_That's_ the matter! and _that's_ the
matter! and _that's_ the matter!' And what do you think? She was
pointing to my stockings and shoes, and my other clothes. I always do
leave them in a little heap in the middle of the floor; they're
perfectly comfortable there, and it doesn't injure them in the least.
Well! that awful woman woke me out of my sleep to put them by. She stood
over me, and made me fold the clothes up, and shake out the stockings,
and put the shoes under a chair, and all the time that fiendish dog was
snapping at my heels. Oh, it's intolerable! I'll be in a lunatic asylum
if this goes on much longer!"

Polly laughed; she could not help it; and Firefly and David, who were
both listening attentively, glanced significantly at one another.

The next morning, very, very early, Firefly was awakened by a bump. She
sat up, rubbed her eyes, and murmured, "All right!" under her breath.

"Put something on, Fly, and be quick," whispered David's voice from the
door.

Firefly soon tumbled into a warm frock, a thick outdoor jacket, and a
little fur cap; her shoes and stockings were tumbled on anyhow. Holding
her jacket together--for she was in too great a hurry to fasten
it--she joined David.

"I did it last night," he said; "it's a large hole; he'll never be
discovered there. And now the thing is to get him."

"Oh, Dave, how will you manage that?"

"Trust me, Fly. Even if I do run a risk, I don't care. Anything is
better than the chance of Flower getting into another of her passions."

"Oh, anything, of course," said Fly. "Are you going to kill him, Dave?"

"No. The hole is big; he can move about in it. What I thought of was
this--we'd sell him."

"Sell him? But he isn't ours."

"No matter! He's a public nuisance, and he must be got rid of. There are
often men wandering on the moor who would be glad to buy a small dog
like Scorpion. They'd very likely give us a shilling for him. Then we'd
drop the shilling into Mrs. Cameron's purse. Don't you see? She'd never
know how it got there. Then, you understand, it would really have been
Mrs. Cameron who sold Scorpion."

"Oh, delicious!" exclaimed Fly. "She'd very likely spend the money on
postage stamps to send round begging charity letters."

"So Scorpion would have done good in the end," propounded David. "But
come along now, Fly. The difficult thing is to catch the little brute."

It was still very early in the morning, and the corridors and passages
we