attention. Bobs, of course, came first--no other animal could possibly
approach him in favour. But after Bobs came a long procession, beginning
with Tait, the collie, and ending with the last brood of fluffy
Orpington chicks, or perhaps the newest thing in disabled birds, picked
up, fluttering and helpless, in the yard or orchard. There was room in
Norah's heart for them all.

Tait was a beauty--a rough-haired collie, with a splendid head, and big,
faithful brown eyes, that spoke more eloquently than many persons'
tongues. He was, like most of the breed, ready to be friends with any
one; but his little mistress was dearest of all, and he worshipped her
with abject devotion. Norah never went anywhere without him; Tait saw to
that. He seemed always on the watch for her coming, and she was never
more than a few yards from the house before the big dog was silently
brushing the grass by her side. His greatest joy was to follow her on
long rides into the bush, putting up an occasional hare and scurrying
after it in the futile way of collies, barking at the swallows overhead,
and keeping pace with Bobs' long, easy canter.

Puck used to come on these excursions too. He was the only being for
whom it was suspected that Tait felt a mild dislike--an impudent Irish
terrier, full of fun and mischief, yet with a somewhat unfriendly and
suspicious temperament that made him, perhaps, a better guardian for
Norah than the benevolently disposed Tait. Puck had a nasty, inquiring
mind--an unpleasant way of sniffing round the legs of tramps that
generally induced those gentry to find the top rail of a fence a more
calm and more desirable spot than the level of the ground. Indian
hawkers feared him and hated him in equal measure. He could bite, and
occasionally did bite, his victims being always selected with judgment
and discretion, generally vagrants emboldened to insolence by seeing no