smock, and his ugly fat face clothed in its usual sarcastic smile.

"Excuse me one moment," he said; "I hear you have a dog."

The Jampot rose, as good manners demanded, but said nothing.

"Where is the creature?" he asked.

The new addition to the Cole family had finished his washing; the
blazing fire had almost dried him, and his hair stuck out now from
his body in little stiff prickles, hedgehog fashion, giving him a
truly original appearance. His beard afforded him the air of an
ambassador, and his grave, melancholy eyes the absorbed
introspection of a Spanish hidalgo; his tail, however, in its
upright, stumpy jocularity, betrayed his dignity.

"There he is," said Jeremy, with a glance half of terror, half of
delight, at the Jampot. "Isn't he lovely?"

"Lovely. My word!" Uncle Samuel's smile broadened. "He's about the
most hideous mongrel it's ever been my lot to set eyes on. But he
has his points. He despises you all, I'm glad to see."

Jeremy, as usual with Uncle Samuel, was uncertain as to his
sincerity.

"He looks a bit funny just now," he explained. "He's been drying on
the rug. He'll be all right soon. He wanted to bite Mr. Jellybrand.
It was funny. Mr. Jellybrand was frightened as anything."