r hut windows
open, and go out into her garden at any hour of the evening without
fear of harm. She liked to stroll out and listen to "Retreat" being
sounded at sundown, especially when it was the turn of some regiment
with pipes to perform the duty; they sounded so shrill and weird,
coming from the distant hill through the growing darkness.

[Illustration: OUR LATEST PET--A REFUGEE PUP, WHOM WE HAVE SAVED FROM
THE COMMON HANGMAN.]

We held a curious function one hot July evening during Retreat, when,
the Fates being propitious, it was the turn of the 42nd Highlanders to
play. My sister had taken compassion on a stray collie puppy a few
weeks before, and adopted him; he was very soft-coated and fascinating
in his ways, despite his gawky legs, and promised to grow into a
credit to his race. But it seemed he was too finely bred to survive
the ravages of distemper, for, though he was tenderly nursed, he died.
A wreath of flowers was hung round his neck, and, as he lay on his
bier, Julie made a sketch of him, with the inscription, "The Little
Colley, Eheu! Taken in, June 14. In spite of care, died July 1.
_Speravimus meliora_." Major Ewing, wearing a broad Scotch bonnet,
dug a grave in the garden, and as we had no "dinner-bell" to muffle,
we waited till the pipers broke forth at sundown with an appropriate
air, and then lowered the little Scotch dog into his resting-place.

During her residence at Aldershot Julie wrote three of her longest
books--"A Flat Iron for a Farthing," "Six to Sixteen," and "Jan of the
Windmill," besides all the shorter tales and verses that she
contributed to the Magazine between 1870 and 1877. The two short tales
which seem to me her very best came out in 1876, namely, "Our Field"
(about which I have already spoken) and "The Blind Man and the Talking
Dog." Both the stories were written to fit some old German woodcuts,
but they are perfectly different in style; "Our Field" is told in the
language and from the fresh heart of a Child; whilst the "Blind Man"
is such a picture of life from cradle to grave--aye, and stretching
forward into the world beyond,--as could only have come forth from the
experiences of Age. But though this be so, the lesson shown of how the
Boy's story foreshadows the Man's history, is one which cannot be
learned too early.

Julie never pictured a dearer dog than the Peronet whom she originated
from the fat stumpy-tailed puppy who is seen playing with the children
in the wo