"Has dear little Dora's tea-party been a success?" she asked. "You see, children, I know where you've been. I saw your father on his way to fetch you." "It has been a very great success," Angel replied; "we have had such a happy time! I saw your present to Dora, Miss Goodwin.—It is a beautiful little pincushion made of velvet, and embroidered in silks," she explained, turning to her father. "I embroidered it myself," the old lady said, her face beaming with smiles. "It pleased the child! I am to drink tea with the Mickles to-morrow, and Dora will show me all her treasures. Ah, Gerald, you've not been to see me for a long while. Do come in one day soon. Well, good-night, good-night." Mr. Willis and his children passed on, whilst Miss Goodwin, who had only been waiting for them, now went into the house. "What a dear old soul she is," Angel said; "the Mickles are all so fond of her. Dora wanted to invite her to the tea-party to-day, but Mrs. Mickle thought it would be too much excitement for her." "I should think so," Mr. Willis replied; "you were rather noisy. Poor Miss Goodwin would have been quite bewildered if she had heard your tongues chattering." As they neared their destination they were startled by the cries of a dog, evidently in pain, and a minute later came upon a scene which made Angel's tender heart throb with mingled indignation and pity. A big boy was holding a poor little terrier by the collar, and beating it most unmercifully with a great stick. The next moment Mr. Willis had sprung to the rescue, and wrenched the weapon from the boy's hand, and smashed it in two pieces, which he flung into the hedge. "You coward!" he exclaimed, clutching the boy by the collar and shaking him, whilst the dog, suddenly released, ran howling piteously down the road in the direction of the town. "How would you like to be thrashed as—" He paused in intense astonishment as he recognized the scared face the boy turned towards him. It was Reginald Hope. He had been fishing in the clay pits, and had, on his way home, encountered a favourite dog of his father's. The little animal, overjoyed at the meeting, had jumped against his young master, and had unfortunately knocked the pickle bottle he had been carrying, and which had contained a few prettily marked fish, out of his hand. Enraged beyond measure, Reginald had cut a stick from the hedge with his pocket-knife, and seizing the dog, was giving it a heavy thrashing when he was suddenly stopped by Mr. Willis. "Let me go! Let me go!" Reginald cried, wriggling to get free in vain. "Not till I've had a few words with you," Mr. Willis replied firmly. "Wicked boy, to thrash a poor dog so cruelly!" "Aggravating beast!" Reginald exclaimed vindictively. "Look at that smashed bottle, and those fish which I had trouble enough to catch! The dog belongs to us, and I can do as I like to it. Let me go, Mr. Willis."