father's heart, and her mother's, and almost yours, my Pink. Why was
it right for her to die?"

"It _was_ right, dear," said Pink, gently; "that is all we can know.
'Why' isn't answered in this world. My granny used to say,--

"'Never lie!
Never pry!
Never ask the reason why!'"

Hilda shook her head, and was about to reply earnestly; but at this
moment Bubble came bounding back with something in his arms,--something
covered with an old shawl; something alive, which did not like the
shawl, and which struggled, and made plaintive little noises, which the
boy tried vainly to repress.

[Illustration: "'SAY, MISS HILDY,--DO YOU LIKE PURPS?'"]

"Say, Miss Hildy," he cried, eagerly, "do ye like--be still, ye critter;
hesh, I tell ye!--do you like purps?"

"'Purps,' Bubble?" repeated Hilda, wonderingly. "What are they? And what
have you there,--your poor old cat? Let her go! For shame, you naughty
boy!"

"Puppies, he means," whispered Pink.

"'Cause if ye do," cried the breathless Bubble, still struggling with
his shrouded captive, "I've got one here as--Wal, thar! go 'long, ye
pesky critter, if ye _will_!" for the poor puppy had made one frantic
effort, and leaped from his arms to the ground, where it rolled over and
over, a red and green plaid mass, with a white tail sticking out of one
end. On being unrolled, it proved to be a little snow-white, curly
creature, with long ears and large, liquid eyes, whose pathetic glance
went straight to Hilda's heart.

"Oh, the little darling!" she cried, taking him up in her arms; "the
pretty, pretty creature! Is he really for me, Bubble? Thank you very
much. I shall love him dearly, I know."

"I'm glad ye like him," said Bubble, looking highly gratified. "Hosy
Grout giv him an' another one to me yes'day, over 't the village. He was
goin' to drownd 'em, an' I wouldn' let him, an' he said I might hev 'em
ef I wanted 'em. I knew Pink would like to hev one, an' I thought mebbe
you liked critters, an' so--"

"Good Bubble!" said Hilda, stroking the little dog's curly head. "And
what shall I call him, Pink? Let us each think of a name, and then
choose the best."

There was a pause, and then Bubble said, "Call him Scott, after the bold
Buckle-oh!"

"Or Will, for 'the wily Belted Will,'" said Pink, who was as inveterate
a ballad-lover as her brother.

"I think Jock is a good name," said Hildegarde,--"Jock o' Hazeldean, you
know. I think I will call him Jock.