I
can do it, in two years, in one, then. It--it would be a great
kindness."

The merchant measured the Master with his little grey eyes. He was
good-natured and very vain. He wanted to own that magnificent
hound. No one else in the colony (it was not a State then) owned
such a hound as that. He pictured Finn lying on a rug in the fine
hall of his fine house, which he was told was equal to that of one
of the stately homes of England. It had cost enough, he thought,
with its armour, and its dim old portraits of men and women whose
names he had never heard, though he was wont to refer to them
vaguely as "family portraits, you know--the old folk at Home." And
it was true enough they had come from the Old Country; through the
dealer who supplied the armour. But then to have some one come and
take his fine hound away from him--no, his dignity forbade the
thought of such a thing. He turned half round on his heels.

"No," he said decisively; "I'm sorry, but I couldn't think of it.
I'll make it seventy-five guineas for an outright sale, and that's
my last word."

While the Master pondered over this, he had a vision of the
Mistress of the Kennels, sitting, white and shaky, in the dismal
little room on the far side of the city, waiting for the change
which was to give her health again. He did hesitate for another
minute; but he knew all the time that there was no alternative for
him, and, watching the expression on his careworn face, the
merchant, good-natured creature though he was, told himself that he
had been a fool to offer that extra five guineas. It really was a
preposterous price for a dog, he thought.

Five minutes later the merchant was making out a cheque in his
study, and the Master was engaged in writing down a long list of
details regarding Finn's dietary, and the sort of methods and
system which should be followed to secure health and happiness to
an Irish Wolfhound. The Master used great care over the preparation
of these instructions. At least, he thought, Finn would be sure of
a luxuriously good home.

"You don't think he'll run away, do you?" asked the merchant.

"No; I don't think he'll run away," said the Master. "I'll tell him
he mustn't do that." The merchant stared. "But, for a week or two,
you should be careful with him, and not leave him quite at large."
The Master had already made it clear to the merchant that Finn was
an aristocrat in all his habits. And now the merchant was anxious
to get to