thinks he's good enough for a ribbon he'll award him one. But--"

"Oh, he simply can't help awarding one to Morven, here!" broke in
the girl. "CAN he, Stokes?"

"Hard to say, Miss," answered the groom imperturbably, as he
wrought with brush and cloth. "Judges has their own ideas. We'll
have to hope for the best for him and not be too sick if he gets
gated."

"Gated?" echoed the girl--an evident newcomer to the realm of
showdom.

"Yes, Miss," expounded the groom. "'Gated' means 'shown the
gate.' Some judges thins out a class that way, by sending the
poorest dogs out of the ring first. Then again, some judges--"

"Oh, I'm glad I wore this dress!" sighed the girl. "It goes so
well with Morven's color. Perhaps the judge--"

"Excuse me, Miss," put in the groom, trying not to laugh, "but
the collie judge to-day is Fred Leightonhe bred the great Howgill
Rival, you know--and when Leighton is in the ring, he hasn't got
eyes for anything but the dogs themselves. Begging your pardon,
he wouldn't notice if you was to wear a horse blanket. At that,
Leighton's the squarest and the best--"

"Look!" whispered the girl, whose attention had wandered and
whose roving gaze had settled on Chum. "Look at that dog in the
next bench. Isn't he magnificent?"