"It's a crisis, Mr. Bates," began Ladybird; "it's a perfectly awful crisis; but of course when crisises come they have to be met, and I'm fully prepared to meet it. I hate it, I hate it something fearful! But I'm going to do right, the whole right, and nothing but the right, and I want you to help me, Mr. Bates. Will you? I pause for a reply." Ladybird paused dramatically, and Mr. Bates, impressed with the spirit of the situation, placed his hand on his heart and replied: "You have only to command me, madam; my time and talents are entirely at your service." "Well, you see it's this way," said Ladybird. "I have here a dog--a most beautiful and valuable dog--which I want to present to you." "To me?" said Mr. Bates, much astonished. "Don't you care for him yourself?" This simple question proved too much for Ladybird's unstable, though carefully built structure of heroism. "Don't I care for him!" she repeated; and dropping her head on Cloppy's fat back, she burst into one of her most spectacular storms of tears. Mr. Bates, though much distressed, had sufficient tact to say nothing for a few moments. Had his wife been at home, he would have called her to minister to the sobbing child; but as it was, he sat regarding Ladybird with a grave and kindly sympathy. "What is it, dear?" he said gently when there was a break in the storm and a pair of large dark eyes looked brightly through their wet lashes. "Oh, it's such a comfort to give way to your feelings, isn't it?" said Ladybird, conversationally. "But I really ought to have a waterproof handkerchief; this one is perfectly soaked." Mr. Bates quietly took a folded handkerchief from his pocket, and shaking out the ample square of cambric, politely offered it to his visitor, who took it gratefully. "It's a beautiful October day," he said, glancing out of the window, and desiring to introduce a commonplace subject. "Yes," said Ladybird; "October is one of my favorites. I think it is the prettiest-colored month of the whole year, except, perhaps, April. But I must proceed with my business; I'll promise not to cry again: that's over now; but you see I care so very much for my dog that I forgot myself. But my aunt, Miss Flint, doesn't care for him just in the way I do, so she desires that I should give him away; and as it is my duty to do as she wishes me, I have brought the dog to you as a free-will offering." "How do you know I want him?" said Mr. Bates, a little quizzically. "Oh, you couldn't help wanting him! Why, in the first place, he has a wonderful pedigree: he's a real Yorkshire; but besides all that, he's the dearest, best, loveliest, sweetest dog in the whole world. Of course you couldn't be supposed to feel intimately acquainted with him yet; but in a day or two you'll name him but to praise." "And your Aunt Priscilla doesn't like him? Why is that?"