“Suppose we send Lad to the boarding kennels, at Ridgewood, till the brat is gone?” suggested the Master. “I hate to do it. And the good old chap will be blue with homesickness there. But at least he’ll get kind treatment. When he comes over to me and looks up into my eyes in that terribly appealing way, after Cyril has done some rotten thing to him,—well, I feel like a cur, not to be able to justify his faith that I can make things all right for him. Yes, I think I’ll send him to the boarding kennels. And, if it weren’t for leaving you alone to face things here, I’d be tempted to hire a stall at the kennels for myself, till the pest is gone.” The next day, came a ray of light in the bothered gloom. And the question of the boarding kennels was dropped. The Mistress received a letter from Cyril’s mother. The European trip had been cut short, for business reasons; and the two travellers expected to land in New York on the following Friday. “Who dares say Friday is an unlucky day?” chortled the Master in glee, as his wife reached this stage of the letter. “And,” the Mistress read on, “we will come out to the Place, on the noon train; and take darling Cyril away with us. I wish we could stay longer with you; but Henry must be in Chicago on Saturday night. So we must catch a late afternoon train back to town, and take the night train West. Now, I—” “Most letters are a bore,” interpolated the Master. “Or else they’re a bother. But this one is a pure rapture. Read it more slowly, won’t you, dear? I want to wallow in every blessèd word of hope it contains. Go ahead. I’m sorry I interrupted. Read on. You’ll never have such another enthusiastic audience.” “And now,” the Mistress continued her reading, “I am going to ask both of you not to say a single word to precious Cyril about our coming home so soon. We want to surprise him. Oh, to think what his lovely face will be like, when he sees us walking in!” “And to think what _my_ lovely face will be like, when I see him walking out!” exulted the Master. “Laddie, come over here. We’ve got the gorgeousest news ever! Come over and be glad!” Lad, at the summons, came trotting out of his cave, and across the room. Like every good dog who has been much talked to, he was as adept as any dead-beat in reading the varying shades of the human voice. The voices and faces alike of his two adored deities told him something wonderful had happened. And, as ever, he rejoiced in their gladness. Lifting his magnificent head, he broke into a salvo of trumpeting barks;—the oddly triumphant form of racket he reserved for great moments. “What’s Laddie doing?” asked Cyril, from the threshold. “He sounds as if he was going mad or something.” “He’s happy,” answered the Mistress. “Why’s he happy?” queried the child. “Because his Master and I are happy,” patiently returned the Mistress. “Why are _you_ happy?” insisted Cyril. “Because to-day is Thursday,” put in the Master. “And that means to-morrow will be Friday.”