silenced, and he was lifting up his huge, blunt,
stupid head to the new callers to be patted.

"What! Tartar, Tartar!" said a cheery, rather boyish voice, "don't you
know us? Good-morning, old boy!"

And little Mr. Sweeting, whose conscious good nature made him
comparatively fearless of man, woman, child, or brute, came through the
gate, caressing the guardian. His vicar, Mr. Hall, followed. He had no
fear of Tartar either, and Tartar had no ill-will to him. He snuffed
both the gentlemen round, and then, as if concluding that they were
harmless, and might be allowed to pass, he withdrew to the sunny front
of the hall, leaving the archway free. Mr. Sweeting followed, and would
have played with him; but Tartar took no notice of his caresses. It was
only his mistress's hand whose touch gave him pleasure; to all others he
showed himself obstinately insensible.

Shirley advanced to meet Messrs. Hall and Sweeting, shaking hands with
them cordially. They were come to tell her of certain successes they had
achieved that morning in applications for subscriptions to the fund. Mr.
Hall's eyes beamed benignantly through his spectacles, his plain face
looked positively handsome with goodness; and when Caroline, seeing who
was come, ran out to meet him, and put both her hands into his, he gazed
down on her with a gentle, serene, affectionate expression that gave him
the aspect of a smiling Melanchthon.

Instead of re-entering the house, they strayed through the garden, the
ladies walking one on each side of Mr. Hall. It was a breezy sunny day;
the air freshened the girls' cheeks and gracefully dishevelled their
ringlets. Both of them looked pretty--one gay. Mr. Hall spoke oftenest
to his brilliant companion, looked most frequently at the quiet one.
Miss Keeldar gathered handfuls of the profusely blooming flowers whose
perfume filled the enclosure. She gave some to Caroline, telling her to
choose a nosegay for Mr. Hall; and with her lap filled with delicate and
splendid blossoms, Caroline sat down on the steps of a summer-house. The
vicar stood near her, leaning on his cane.

Shirley, who could not be inhospitable, now called out the neglected
pair in the oak parlour. She convoyed Donne past his dread enemy Tartar,
who, with his nose on his fore paws, lay snoring under the meridian sun.
Donne was not grateful--he never _was_ grateful for kindness and
attention--but he was glad of the safeguard. Miss Keeldar, desirous of
being im