Next morning there was a strange stillness and idleness. No master taking his early walk over the grounds. No Lily gathering her flowers before breakfast. No John to open the stable door, and let me in to bark good morning to the horses. No horses; a boy sweeping the deserted stable, and rack and manger empty. No carriage; the coach-house filled with lumber, and the shutters closed in the loft. No servants about. I rather congratulated myself upon the disappearance of Lily's maid, who had a habit of making uncivil speeches if I crossed her path in running to meet Lily. That maid and I had never been friends since I once had the misfortune to shake myself near her when coming out of the water. I confess I did wet her, and I did dirty her; but I did not know that water would hurt her coat,--it never hurt mine; and she need not have borne malice for ever; I should have forgiven her long ago if she had dirtied me. But whenever she saw me she took the opportunity of saying something mortifying, as, "Out of the way; don't come nigh me with that great mop of yours!" or, "Get along with you! I wonder what Miss Lily can see to like in such a great lumbering brute." I kept out of her way as much as I could, and it was now some consolation that she did not come in mine. But it was a dull day. In due time the gardener's wife called, and gave me my breakfast, setting it down outside the kitchen door. It was a comfortable breakfast, for she was a good-natured woman, not likely to neglect Lily's charge to take care of me. I wagged my tail, and looked up in her face to thank her, but she was already gone without taking farther notice of me. She had done her work of giving me the necessaries of life, and my feelings were nothing to her. How I remembered my pretty Lily, and wished for her pleasant welcome. After breakfast I went on an expedition to the flower-garden, thinking I might have a chance of finding some trace of my mistress in that favourite haunt. The gate was shut, but I heard steps, and scratched to be let in. I scratched and whined for some time; Lily would not have kept me half so long. At last the gardener looked over the top of the gate: "Oh, it's you," said he; "I thought so. But you had best go and amuse yourself in places proper for you; you are not coming to walk over my flowerbeds any more." He did not speak unkindly, and I had often heard him tell Lily that I was "best out of the flower-garden;" so I could not reasonably grumble; but his speech showed the change in my position, and I walked away from the closed gate with my mind much oppressed, and my tail between my legs.