Mrs. Handsomebody looked at her bereft sideboard, and dropped into a chair with a gasp.
"Are you sure he's gone?"
"Yes'm. I stuck me head out the windy and seen him."
"You're a brave girl. Get me the bitters. Yes, and lock the door into the scullery—stay, what dog was it that barked?"
Mary Ellen hung her head. "The dawg the little boys have been keepin' this bit while. It does no harm at all."
Mrs. Handsomebody's face was a mask. She said composedly: "Well, get the bitters and then bring in the dog."
Mary Ellen did as she was bid.
Enter now Giftie, tail up, ears pricked, the picture of conscious well-doing. She went straight to Mrs. Handsomebody, sniffed her ankles; wagged her tail in appreciation of the odour of the liniment that emanated from the injured lady; and finally sat up before her with an ingratiating paddling of the forepaws.
Mrs. Handsomebody regarded her sombrely. "May I ask how long you have harboured this stray?"
"Just since the day ye fell, ma'am, and I was that upset that I was scarce in me right moind, and indade, it's hersilf has saved us from robbery and mebbe murther this night wid her barkin'."
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