Some minutes later, when the fumes had rushed off, he stooped down and
lifted out the little kennel with its grim burden. Elsie gave an
exclamation of terror. Louis sat at the door of his dwelling, head erect
and ears pricked, as coldly and defiantly inert as when they had put him
into his execution chamber. Strudwarden dropped the kennel with a jerk,
and stared for a long moment at the miracle-dog; then he went into a peal
of chattering laughter.

It was certainly a wonderful imitation of a truculent-looking toy
Pomeranian, and the apparatus that gave forth a wheezy bark when you
pressed it had materially helped the imposition that Lena, and Lena's
maid, had foisted on the household. For a woman who disliked animals,
but liked getting her own way under a halo of unselfishness, Mrs.
Strudwarden had managed rather well.

"Louis is dead," was the curt information that greeted Lena on her return
from her luncheon party.

"Louis _dead_!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, he flew at the butcher-boy and bit him, and he bit me, too, when I
tried to get him off, so I had to have him destroyed. You warned me that
he snapped, but you didn't tell me that he was downright dangerous. I
shall have to pay the boy something heavy by way of compensation, so you
will have to go without those buckles that you wanted to have for Easter;
also I shall have to go to Vienna to consult Dr. Schroeder, who is a
specialist on dog-bites, and you will have to come too. I have sent what
remains of Louis to Rowland Ward to be stuffed; that will be my Easter
gift to you instead of the buckles. For Heaven's sake, Lena, weep, if
you really feel it so much; anything would be better than standing there