The housemaid, being fat, was inclined to think the remark personal; but Clare looked up at her with such clear, honest, simple eyes, that she forgot the notion, and thought what a wonderfully nice boy he looked. “He’s shamefully poor, though! His clothes ain’t even decent!” she remarked to herself. And certainly the white skin did look through in several places. “You won’t let him put his nose in anything, will you?” she said quite gently, returning his smile with a very pleasant one of her own. “Abdiel is too much of a gentleman to do it,” he answered. “A dog a gentleman!” rejoined the housemaid with a merry laugh, willing to draw him out. “Abdiel can be hungry and not greedy,” answered Clare, and the young woman was silent. Miss Tempest and Mrs. Mereweather had all this time been turning over the question of what was to be done with the strange boy. They agreed it was too bad that anyone willing to work should be prevented from earning even a day’s victuals by the bad temper of a gardener. But his mistress did not want to send the man away. She had found him scrupulously honest, as is many a bad-tempered man, and she did not like changes. The cook on her part had taken such a fancy to Clare that she did not want him set to garden-work; she would have him at once into the house, and begin training him for a page. Now Miss Tempest was greatly desiring the same thing, but in dread of what the cook would say, and was delighted, therefore, when the first suggestion of it came from Mrs. Mereweather herself. The only obstacle in the cook’s eyes was that same long, spectral dog. The boy could not be such a fool, however,--she said, not being a lover of animals--as let a wretched beast like that come betwixt him and a good situation! “It’s all right, Clare,” said Mrs. Mereweather, entering her queendom so radiant within that she could not repress the outshine of her pleasure. “Mis’ess an’ me, we’ve arranged it all. You’re to help me in the kitchen; an’ if you can do what you’re told, an’ are willin’ to learn, we’ll soon get you out of your troubles. There’s but one thing in the way.” “What is it, please?” asked Clare. “The dog, of course! You must part with the dog.” “That I cannot do,” returned Clare quietly, but with countenance fallen and sorrowful. “--Come, Abdiel!” The dog started up, every hair of him full of electric vitality. “You don’t mean you’re going to walk yourself off in such a beastly ungrateful fashion--an’ all for a miserable cur!” exclaimed the cook.