The dog crouched close to the ground, waited until
Martha was near enough to lay her hand upon him,
and then, with a backward spring, darted under a
bush in full blossom.

"Look at ye now!" she shouted in a commanding
tone. "'Tain't no use o' my washin' ye. Ye're
full o' thistles and jest as dirty as when I throwed
ye in the water. Come out o' that, I tell ye! Now,
Meg, darlin'"--this came in a coaxing tone--"come
out like a good dog--sure I'm not goin' in them
brambles to hunt ye!"

A clatter of hoofs rang out on the morning air.
A two-wheeled gig drawn by a well-groomed sorrel
horse and followed by a brown-haired Irish setter
was approaching. In it sat a man of thirty, dressed
in a long, mouse-colored surtout with a wide cape
falling to the shoulders. On his head was a soft gray
hat and about his neck a white scarf showing above
the lapels of his coat. He had thin, shapely legs,
a flat waist, and square shoulders, above which rose
a clean-shaven face of singular sweetness and refinement.

At the sound of the wheels the tattered cur poked
his head from between the blossoms, twisted his one
ear to catch the sound, and with a side-spring bounded
up the road toward the setter.