d of small dogs; and I really consider Peter very much
spoilt. Also I always feel he just tolerates me because I am Michael's
wife, and remains with me because, where I am, there Michael will return.
But I am quite kind to him, for Michael's sake. Only he really is a nasty
little dog; and too old to be allowed to continue. Michael always speaks
of him as if he were quite too good to live; and, personally, I think it
is high time he went where all good dogs go. I cannot imagine what is the
matter with him now. Since yesterday afternoon he has refused all his
food, and been so restless and fidgety. He always sleeps on Michael's
bed; and, as a rule, after I have put him there, and closed the door
between Michael's room and mine, I hear no more of Peter, until he barks
to be let out in the morning, and my maid takes him down-stairs. But last
night, he whined and howled for hours. At length I got up, found
Michael's old shooting jacket--the very one in the portrait--and laid it
on the bed. Peter crawled into it, and cuddled down, I folded the sleeves
around him, and he seemed content. But to-day he still refuses to eat. I
believe he is dyspeptic, or has some other complaint, such as dogs
develop when they are old. Honestly--don't you think--a little effective
poison, in an attractive pill----?"

"Oh, hush!" said the doctor. "Peter may not be asleep."

Lady Ingleby laughed. "My dear Sir Deryck! Do you suppose animals
understand our conversation?"

"Indeed I do," replied the doctor. "And more than that, they do not
require the medium of language. Their comprehension is telepathic. They
read our thoughts. A nervous rider or driver can terrify a horse. Dumb
creatures will turn away from those who think of them with dislike or
aversion; whereas a true lover of animals can win them without a spoken
word. The thought of love and of goodwill reaches them telepathically,
winning instant trust and response. Also, if we take the trouble to do
so, we can, to a great extent, arrive at their ideas, in the same way."

"Extraordinary!" exclaimed Lady Ingleby. "Well, I wish you would
thought-read what is the matter with Peter. I shall not know how to face
Michael's home-coming, if anything goes wrong with his beloved dog."

The doctor lay back in his armchair; crossed his knees the one over the
other; rested his elbows on the arms of the chair; then let his
finger-tips meet very exactly. Instinctively he assumed the attitude in
which he