“You seem to have a good many of them,” as an afterthought, “ma’am.” “Yes; they are not all my own. I take in boarders--only six at a time, and they must be small, no invalids accepted. I look after them for people who go abroad, or from home for a few weeks. I am fond of dogs, so I combine business and pleasure.” “Yes, ma’am; but they must be a trouble and a responsibility--other people’s pets.” “I have to take my chance! Some are so nice, it just breaks my heart to part with them. Indeed, there’s Tippy here, the bulldog, I’m pretending he is sick--_isn’t_ it a shame of me? Some are surly, others so sporting, that half my time is spent in scouring the country, and looking into rabbit holes. Others are quarrelsome, or chase, snap, and kill fowl and get me into great trouble. I never keep _them_ on an hour after their time is up. You are the Miss Parretts’ chauffeur, aren’t you?” “Yes, ma’am.” “Is this your first situation?” eyeing him keenly. “Yes, ma’am.” Why did she ask such a question? Did she, to use the good old expression, “smell a rat”? “I’m afraid you will find Ottinge terribly dull. I wonder how you discovered a place so far from everywhere--just the back of beyond?” and she looked at him interrogatively--her dark blue eyes were extraordinarily piercing. To this impertinent remark no reply was necessary, as it brought them precisely to the Manor gate. The lady nodded, and walked on quickly--a slim, active, resolute figure, with the straining fox-terriers dragging at her hands, the little bulldog trotting sedately at her heels. The group passed steadily out towards the open country, with the light rain drifting down upon them. What queer people one came across in Ottinge! Miss Parrett, the ill-tempered old bully, the Hon. Mrs. Ramsay, with her soft voice and expressive eyes, eking out a living by making herself a slave to strangers’ dogs. “Oh, so she sent a verbal message, did she?” snorted Miss Parrett. “Well, when _I_ was a girl,”--turning to her sister--“and people asked me out, I always wrote them _a proper note_; but manners are not what they were in my day. Oh, if my dear, courteous father could only know of some of the things that are done, he would turn in his grave!” Miss Parrett was fond of quoting the old Colonel, and insisting upon his devotion to herself; whilst, if the truth were known, they had been bitterly antagonistic to one another during his lifetime, and the Manor was the frequent scene of acrimonious quarrelling, unfilial gibes, and furious rejoinders. It was fully a quarter of an hour later when Miss Morven arrived with the brass-headed carpet nails. “I _knew_ she had them!” she declared triumphantly; “for she got a lot for us last winter, so I ransacked the shop, and, after a long search, where do you think I found them, Susan?” “In her pocket, to be sure!”