new girl (for each successive one
went away to better herself after a few weeks residence), assembled
simultaneously at the hall door, and drew their visitor from the bitter
blast into the stove lit parlour. One yet more humble welcomer was there
of the vagabond tribe--petty larceny in every curve of his ungainly form,
and his spirit so broken by adversity that he only ventured to wag his
shabby tail in recognition of his benefactress.

This was Bluebell's casual--one of a too common race in Canada of
homeless, starved animals there being no Refuge or dog tax to compel them
to live under protection or not at all.

This reclaimed cur after overcoming his strong suspicion of poison, had
supported himself for sometime on the food Bluebell placed for him in the
shed and when emboldened by hunger and the handsome treatment he had
received he ventured into the house, he was authorized to remain as watch
dog and protector.

In the summer, too, horses were added to her pensioners and invited in to
graze on the patch of enclosed grass at the back of the cottage, till it
fell short from being burned up or eaten, for the common was haunted with
gaunt, famished quadrupeds, who, in the drought of summer, were still
left to look for the mockery of subsistence on the bare, parched ground.

It was a cheerful party gathered round the tea-table, quite lavishly set
forth in honour of the guest. Scones and tea cakes were plenteously
saturated with butter, regardless of its winter price (the old ladies
would breakfast on bread and scrape the rest of the week with
uncomplaining self-denial), and a heavy plum cake formed the _piece de
resistance_.

Trove, for olfactory reasons, was accommodated with his share on a rug
in the passage. Bluebell was the chief talker, with her week's arrears
of news. Captain du Meresq's arrival created a little buzz of interest.

"Is he handsome?" asked Mrs. Leigh, sentimentally, whose thoughts had
flown back to earlier days.

Bluebell looked up with an odd, perplexed glance. "Upon my word, I don't
know."

"Ah! there were more good-looking people in my day," said her mother.
"There was Captain Fletcher, in your poor father's regiment, the
handsomest man that was ever seen,--fresh-coloured, with golden whiskers,
and long, drooping moustache. All we girls were wild about him. Is
Captain Du Meresq at all like that?"

"Not in the least. I can't describe him--fine-shaped head, such strange
eyes. Oh! I dare