"Where is Harry?" I cried sharply. Somehow it was always Harry, my handsome first-born, that I expected things to happen to. Phyllis stammered and shuffled, and then said that Harry had gone to look for Bobby. "And where is Bobby?" She seemed still more reluctant to reply, but suddenly exclaimed, with an air of joyful relief, "Oh, there he is! There he is! There's Waif--he can't be far off!" She followed me to the verandah, whither I went to meet and reproach my poor little fellow for having strayed without leave, and there was no boy visible--only the dear, ugly, faithful dog for whose sake all dogs are beloved and sacred for ever and ever. Waif ran to my feet, pawed them and my skirts, squirmed and jumped, yelped and whined, all the time looking up at me with eyes that were full of desire and supplication--trying to tell me something that at first I could not understand. I took a few steps into the garden, and he scampered down a pathway to the gate; seeing I did not follow so far, he ran back, seized a bit of my frock in his teeth, and tried to drag me with him. "What does he want?" I called to Tom, as he sauntered towards me, pipe in mouth. "Tom, Tom, _what_ does it mean?" "Where's Bob?" was his instant question. "Harry has gone after him--Harry is with him--Harry will bring him home," piped Phyllis, trembling like a leaf. Then she burst into tears. "Oh, mother--oh, father--I heard the gun such a long, long time ago!" The gun! Who would have dreamed of _that?_--locked up in a wardrobe, as we supposed, and forbidden to be so much as looked at except under parental supervision. At the word our hearts jumped, and seemed to stop beating. "He wanted to shoot the oppossum and cure the skin for a present to you on your birthday, mother. And he wanted it to be a secret--for a surprise to you." Waif whined and ran, and we ran after him--Tom in silence, I wailing under my breath, already in despair and heart broken. I can see the devoted creature now, pattering steadily over the moonlit paddocks towards the creek and the trees, stopping every now and then to make sure that we were coming; and see him tracking through the scrub with his nose to the ground, and hear his little uneasy whimper when for a moment he could not perceive us. Once we stopped at the sound of a distant whistle, and I shrieked with joy. "No," said Tom gently. "That's Harry calling him." And we came to the place where we had seen the oppossum the night before. The moonbeams trickled through the branches from which it had looked down upon our happy, united family, and just where we had stood together there was a dark something on the ground. Waif ran up to it and licked it---- * * * * * I can't write any more. CHAPTER V. A LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING.