.

"He didn't let me in," I retorted. "He chased me all over the lawn, and
I only saved myself from being torn piecemeal by scrambling up a tree.
You ought to be prosecuted for keeping such a dog! Where is Jimmy?"

Instead of answering Alexander Abraham began to laugh in a most
unpleasant fashion.

"Trust a woman for getting into a man's house if she has made up her
mind to," he said disagreeably.

Seeing that it was his intention to vex me I remained cool and
collected.

"Oh, I wasn't particular about getting into your house, Mr. Bennett," I
said calmly. "I had but little choice in the matter. It was get in
lest a worse fate befall me. It was not you or your house I wanted to
see--although I admit that it is worth seeing if a person is anxious to
find out how dirty a place CAN be. It was Jimmy. For the third and last
time--where is Jimmy?"

"Jimmy is not here," said Mr. Bennett gruffly--but not quite so
assuredly. "He left last week and hired with a man over at Newbridge."

"In that case," I said, picking up William Adolphus, who had been
exploring the room with a disdainful air, "I won't disturb you any
longer. I shall go."

"Yes, I think it would be the wisest thing," said Alexander Abraham--not
disagreeably this time, but reflectively, as if there was some
doubt about the matter. "I'll let you out by the back door. Then
the--ahem!--the dog will not interfere with you. Please go away quietly
and quickly."

I wondered if Alexander Abraham thought I would go away with a whoop.
But I said nothing, thinking this the most dignified course of conduct,
and I followed him out to the kitchen as quickly and quietly as he could
have wished. Such a kitchen!

Alexander Abraham opened the door--which was locked--just as a buggy
containing two men drove into the yard.

"Too late!" he exclaimed in a tragic tone. I understood that something
dreadful must have happened, but I did not care, since, as I
fondly supposed, it did not concern me. I pushed out past Alexander
Abraham--who was looking as guilty as if he had been caught
burglarizing--and came face to face with the man who had sprung from the
buggy. It was old Dr. Blair, from Carmody, and he was looking at me as
if he had found me shoplifting.

"My dear Peter," he said gravely, "I am VERY sorry to see you here--very
sorry indeed."

I admit that this exasperated me. Besides, no man on earth, not even my
own family doctor, has any right to "My dear Peter" me!