To this end I bent my intellect, and, after a week of profound and strenuous incubation, I hatched the scheme. Then I set to work. I bought a water-spaniel bitch, five months old, and devoted my whole attention to her training. Had any one spied upon me, they would have remarked that this training consisted entirely of one thing--_retrieving_. I taught the dog, which I called “Bellona,” to fetch sticks I threw into the water, and not only to fetch, but to fetch at once, without mouthing or playing with them. The point was that she was to stop for nothing, but to deliver the stick in all haste. I made a practice of running away and leaving her to chase me, with the stick in her mouth, till she caught me. She was a bright animal, and took to the game with such eagerness that I was soon content. After that, at the first casual opportunity, I presented Bellona to John Claverhouse. I knew what I was about, for I was aware of a little weakness of his, and of a little private and civic sinning of which he was regularly and inveterately guilty. “No,” he said, when I placed the end of the rope to which she was tied in his hand. “No, you don’t mean it.” And his mouth opened wide, and he grinned all over his damnable moon-face. “I--I kind of thought, somehow, you didn’t like me,” he explained. “Wasn’t it funny for me to make such a mistake?” And at the thought he held his sides with laughter. “What is her name?” he managed to ask between paroxysms. “Bellona,” I said. “He! he!” he tittered. “What a funny name!” I gritted my teeth, for his mirth put them on edge, and snapped out between them: “She was the wife of Mars, you know.” Then the light of the full moon began to suffuse his face, until he exploded with: “Well, I guess she’s a widow now! Oh! Ho! ho! E! he! he! Ho!” he whooped after me, and I turned and fled swiftly away over the hill. The week passed by, and on Saturday evening I said to him: “You go away Monday, don’t you?” He nodded his head and grinned. “Then you won’t have another chance to get a mess of those trout you just ‘dote’ on.” But he did not notice the sneer. “Oh, I don’t know,” he chuckled. “I’m going up to-morrow to try pretty hard.” Thus was assurance made doubly sure, and I went back to my house literally hugging myself with rapture. Early next morning I saw him go by with a dip-net and gunnysack, and Bellona trotting at his heels. I knew where he was bound, and cut out by the back pasture and climbed through the underbrush to the top of the mountain. Keeping carefully out of sight, I followed the crest along for a couple of miles to a natural amphitheatre in the hills, where the little river ramped down out of a gorge, and stopped for breath in a large and placid rock-bound pool. That was the spot! I sat down on the croup of the mountain, where I could see all that occurred, and lighted my pipe.