They had tried every name they had ever heard of, and Dilly declared it had answered to them all, if answering meant jumping rather wildly round them and barking as if in the very highest spirits, it certainly had. 'It'll be fun to see my name in the paper,' said Archie thoughtfully. 'Indeed you won't see your name in the paper.' 'Well, I found it,' said Archie rather sulkily. 'Yes; but you had no right to find it, and still less to bring it home. I don't know what your father will say.' Bruce at once said that it must be taken to Scotland Yard. Dilly cried bitterly, and said she wanted it to eat out of her hand, and save her life in a snowstorm. 'It's not a St Bernard, you utter little fool,' said her brother. 'Well, it might save me from drowning,' said Dilly. She had once seen a picture, which she longed to realise, of a dog swimming, holding a child in its mouth. She thought it ought to be called Faithful or Rover. All these romantic visions had to be given up. Madame Frabelle said the only thing to do was to take it at once to the Battersea Dogs' Home, where it would be 'happy with companions of its own age'. Immediately after dinner her suggestion was carried out, to the great relief of most of the household. The nurse said when it had gone that she had 'known all along it was mad, but didn't like to say so.' 'But it took such a fancy to me,' said Archie. 'Perhaps that was why,' said Dilly. * * * * * The children were separated by force. CHAPTER XIV For a woman who was warm-hearted, sensitive and thoughtful, Edith had a singularly happy disposition. First, she was good-tempered; not touchy, not easily offended about trifles. Such vanity as she had was not in an uneasy condition; she cared very little for general admiration, and had no feeling for competition. She was without ambition to be superior to others. Then, though she saw more deeply into things than the generality of women, she was not fond of dwelling on the sad side of life. Very small things pleased her, while trifles did not annoy her. Hers was not the placidity of the stupid, fat, contented person who never troubles about other people. She was rather of a philosophical turn, and her philosophy tended to seeing the brighter side. Where she was singularly fortunate was that though she felt pleasure deeply--a temperament that feels pain in proportion--her suffering, though acute, seldom lasted long. There was an elasticity in her disposition that made her rebound quickly from a blow.