r if they did the black dog was certain to
accompany his mistress; and then, in the midst of the party, he would
raise such a barking, and create such a confusion, that none of the
dames could get speaking.

In winter, when the cold blasts swirled dreamily through the leafless
branches of the Langaffer beeches, causing them to creak and moan; when
the snow lay thick upon the ground, and the nights closed in apace, and
the villagers relished the comforts of the "ingle-nook,"
then--alas!--there was no fireside enjoyment for poor Dame Dorothy. She
might fasten her shutters, and draw her armchair close to the hearth;
she might pile up the logs in the chimney to make a blazing fire--but
all in vain! Home cheer there was none; for the black dog was there,
with his great body extended between her and the warmth. She might boil
the kettle, and gaze at herself in its shining lid; but Nero's face was
reflected in the kettle-lid too; and in all the lids, and pots and pans,
and pewters and coppers right round the room, with his ugly muzzle
half-open for growling and snarling.

Moreover, the dog was so greedy and thankless, he never wagged his tail,
but would snap at the victuals his mistress herself was eating; and when
she did give him the choicest dainties that came off her gridiron, and
the very top of the cream, he would only whine for more.

For all this, Dame Dorothy had no idea of parting with the graceless
brute, but continued to pet and pamper him. She was even secretly proud
of Nero, because he was the biggest dog in the village, and by far the
most terrible. Once she told the neighbours over the palings that he was
a great protection to her, especially at night, and she "such a poor
lone widow!"

Whereupon these good people honestly replied, "Oh, Mistress Dorothy,
never dread a worse enemy than your own black dog!"

Then in her heart she remembered how that very morning Nero had indeed
caught her thumb between his teeth when impatiently snatching his food;
and how the evening before he had upset the milkpail, and left the black
mark of his paw on her new knitted quilt; and how, one day last week, he
had sat down on her best Sunday cap. And Dame Dorothy knew in her heart
that the village folk spoke truly; but she would not acknowledge it,
no--but with a melancholy shake of her head, repeated, "Poor dear Nero!
People have something against thee, my dear black doggie!"

Now it happened that one fine morning in May, wh