He moved forward a few steps; the house was so dark behind him, the
world so dim and uncertain in front of him, that for a moment his
heart failed him. He might have to search the whole garden for the
dog.

Then he heard a sniff, felt something wet against his leg--he had
almost stepped upon the animal. He bent down and stroked its wet
coat. The dog stood quite still, then moved forward towards the
house, sniffed at the steps, at last walked calmly through the open
door as though the house belonged to him. Jeremy followed, closed
the door behind him; then there they were in the little dark passage
with the boy's heart beating like a drum, his teeth chattering, and
a terrible temptation to sneeze hovering around him. Let him reach
the nursery and establish the animal there and all might be well,
but let them be discovered, cold and shivering, in the passage, and
out the dog would be flung. He knew so exactly what would happen. He
could hear the voices in the kitchen. He knew that they were sitting
warm there by the fire, but that at any moment Jampot might think
good to climb the stairs and see "what mischief they children were
up to." Everything depended upon the dog. Did he bark or whine, out
into the night he must go again, probably to die in the cold. But
Jeremy, the least sentimental of that most sentimental race the
English, was too intent upon his threatened sneeze to pay much
attention to these awful possibilities.

He took off his slippers and began to climb the stairs, the dog
close behind him, very grave and dignified, in spite of the little
trail of snow and water that he left in his track. The nursery door
was reached, pushed softly open, and the startled gaze of Mary and