“Oh, indeed,” said Mrs. Sanders, who was a very genteel and superior person; “my husband would have had great pleasure in taking you round, Mr. Guppy, but he’s out just at present.” “No matter for that, mum, I’ll go by myself. What, Jet! There ye be, my beauty; dear, to be sure, a body ’ud never think ’twas the same dog. She do seem to ha’ fell away terr’ble, mum.” Jet, a curly-coated black spaniel, was at that moment straining wildly at her chain, and wriggling her little black body in such spasms of ecstasy at the sight of her old master that it would have needed a very sharp eye to detect any alteration in her appearance, if, indeed, such existed; but John spoke in a tone of conviction. “She bain’t half the dog she were. What do you feed her on, mum? Jet, she did used to be dainty--didn’t ye, Jet? Her coat do stare dreadful, mum, now don’t it? A prize dog didn’t ought to have its coat neglected like that. When I had the charge o’ she, dally! if I didn’t comb and brush her morn an’ night, same as if she’d been a young lady. Be dalled if I didn’t! Where be your master, mum?” Mrs. Sanders’ face, always somewhat frosty in expression, had become more and more pinched and supercilious during the colloquy, and she now replied extremely distantly that she couldn’t say for certain where Mr. Sanders might be, but that very likely he was looking after the young pheasants. “Ah!” commented John, with interest; “and where mid he ha’ got them this year?” “On this side of the North Plantation,” returned the lady unwillingly. “A bad place, mum, a very bad place; no birds ’ull ever do well there. If he’d a-come to I, I could ha’ telled en that. They’ll never thrive up yon in that draughty place--no, that they won’t; and it’ll be too cold for ’em. I’m afeared he’ll have a bad season. The North Plantation--dear, some folks doesn’t know much! Well, I’ll go and have a look at ’em, and if I do see your husband, I mid be able to gie en a word or two o’ advice.” “Ho! no need for that, I think,” cried Mrs. Sanders wrathfully. “’Tisn’t very likely as my husband, wot ’as lived in the fust o’ families, and been keeper to a markis, ’ud want to take advice from an old gentleman like you, Mr. Guppy, as has never left the one place all your life.” “I could have advised en agen the North Plantation, anyhow,” said John stolidly. “Well, I’ll wish ’ee good-day, mum. I’ll be goin’ my ways up-along.” And he hobbled off, muttering to himself as he went: “The North Plantation! The chap must be a fool!... They poor dogs, they was glad to see I!--jist about; but bain’t he a sammy! There he do go and feed up the shooting dogs so as they be for all the world like pigs, and Jet, what we used to keep same as a little queen, he do seem to take no more notice of nor if she was a cat! Poor Jet! How she did cry to get to I! Well, well! I may be able to put things straight a bit.”