was a most correctly dressed person. His hat, and gloves, and cane, and
long-tailed frock-coat were all beautiful; but it was, perhaps, the
tightness of his nether garments, or, perhaps, the tightness of his
brilliantly-polished boots (which were partially covered by white
gaiters), that made him go up the narrow little stairs with some
precision of caution. The door was opened and he was announced.

"My dear old boy," said he, "how do you do?" and Macleod gave him a grip
of the hand that nearly burst one of his gloves.

But at this moment an awful accident occurred. From behind the door of
the adjacent bedroom, Oscar, the collie, sprang forward with an angry
growl; then he seemed to recognize the situation of affairs, when he saw
his master holding the stranger's hand; then he began to wag his tail;
then he jumped up with his fore-paws to give a kindly welcome.

"Hang it all, Macleod!" young Ogilvie cried, with all the starch gone
out of his manner; "your dog's all wet? What's the use of keeping a
brute like that about the place?"

Alas! the beautiful, brilliant boots were all besmeared, and the white
gaiters too, and the horsey-looking nether garments. Moreover, the
Highland savage, so far from betraying compunction, burst into a roar of
laughter.

"My dear fellow," he cried, "I put him in my bedroom to dry. I couldn't
do more, could I? He has just been in the Serpentine."

"I wish he was there now, with a stone and a string round his neck!"
observed Lieutenant Ogilvie, looking at his boots; but he repented him