We hurried down the street. Suddenly, warned by a newly awakened and primitive instinct, I looked back. We had overrun our quarry. He had just emerged from some hiding place and was heading back toward the main street, looking fearfully over his shoulder. Once more we were in full cry. For the next five minutes we practically ran--all three of us. The man was obviously frightened out of his wits, and kept making frenzied and spasmodic spurts, from which we surmised that he was getting to the end of his powers of endurance. "If only we could overtake him," I said, hauling my exhausted spouse along by the arm, "we could explain that--" "He's gone again!" exclaimed Stella. She was right. The man had turned another corner. We followed him round hotfoot, and found ourselves in a prim little _cul-de-sac_, with villas on each side. Across the end of the street ran a high wall, obviously screening a railroad track. "We've got him!" I exclaimed. I felt as Moltke must have felt when he closed the circle at Sedan. "But where is the Dogs' Home, dear?" inquired Stella. The question was never answered, for at this moment the man ran up the steps of the fourth villa on the left and slipped a latchkey into the lock. The door closed behind him with a venomous snap and we were left alone in the street, guideless and dogless. A minute later the man appeared at the ground-floor window, accompanied by a female of commanding appearance. He pointed us out to her. Behind them we could dimly descry a white tablecloth, a tea cozy and covered dishes. The commanding female, after a prolonged and withering glare, plucked a hairpin from her head and ostentatiously proceeded to skewer together the starchy white curtains that framed the window. Privacy secured and the sanctity of the English home thus pointedly vindicated, she and her husband disappeared into the murky background, where they doubtless sat down to an excellent high tea. Exhausted and discomfited, we drifted away. "I am going home," said Stella in a hollow voice. "And I think," she added bitterly, "that it might have occurred to you to suggest that the creature might possibly be going from the Dogs' Home and not to it." I apologized. It is the simplest plan, really. II IT was almost dark when the train arrived at our little country station. We set out to walk home by the short cut across the golf course. "Anyhow, we have saved five shillings," remarked Stella. "We paid half a crown for that taxi which took us back to Victoria Station," I reminded her. "Do not argue to-night, darling," responded my wife. "I simply cannot endure anything more." Plainly she was a little unstrung. Very considerately, I selected another topic. "I think our best plan," I said cheerfully, "would be to advertise for a dog." "I never wish to see a dog again," replied Stella. I surveyed her with some concern and said gently:-- "I am afraid you are tired, dear." "No; I'm not." "A little shaken, perhaps?"