ne, could have been
more changed for the better. His flanks revealed a skin most daintily
mottled; his tail became leonine, with an imperial tuft; his mane fell
in long curls like the beard of a Ninevite king; his boots were those
of a courtier in the reign of Charles II.; his eyes looked forth in
dark splendour from locks white as the driven snow. This feat performed,
Waife slept the sleep of the righteous, and Sir Isaac, stretched on the
floor beside the bed, licked his mottled flanks and shivered: "_il
faut souffrir pour etre beau_." Much marvelling, Sophy the next morning
beheld the dog; but, before she was up, Waife had paid the bill and was
waiting for her on the road, impatient to start. He did not heed her
exclamation, half compassionate, half admiring; he was absorbed in
thought. Thus they proceeded slowly on till within two miles of the
town, and then Waife turned aside, entered a wood, and there, with the
aid of Sophy, put the dog upon a deliberate rehearsal of the anticipated
drama. The dog was not in good spirits, but he went through his part
with mechanical accuracy, though slight enthusiasm.

"He is to be relied upon, in spite of his French origin," said Waife.
"All national prejudice fades before the sense of a common interest.
And we shall always find more genuine solidity of character in a French
poodle than in an English mastiff, whenever a poodle is of use to us
and the mastiff is not. But oh, waste of care! oh, sacrifice of time
to empty names! oh, emblem of fashionable education! It never struck me
before,--does it not, child though thou art, strike thee now,--by the
necessities of our drama, this animal must be a French dog?"

"Well, Grandfather?"

"And we have given him an English name! Precious result of our own
scholastic training, taught at preparatory academies precisely that
which avails us naught when we are to face the world! What is to be
done? Unlearn him his own cognomen,--teach him another name,--too late,
too late. We cannot afford the delay."

"I don't see why he should be called any name at all. He observes your
signs just as well without."

"If I had but discovered that at the beginning. Pity! Such a fine name
too. Sir Isaac! _Vanitas vanitatum!_ What desire chiefly kindles the
ambitious? To create a name, perhaps bequeath a title,--exalt into Sir
Isaacs a progeny of slops! And, after all, it is possible (let us hope
it in this instance) that a sensible young dog may learn his