Gertrude smiled slightly, then laughed outright, as she glanced up into his face, saying, “I thought it was you, papa, that took mamma.”

“Oh! now, you begin to look something like the little girl I’m used to hearing called Gertrude Ross; the one I like to buy presents for; the other one that was here just a moment ago, gets nothing bought with my money.”

“See here,” said her mother, and with a cry of delight Gertrude sprang forward and caught from her hand a watch and chain very nearly the counterparts of those little Elsie was displaying to her sister and brothers.

“Oh, joy, joy!” she cried, dancing up and down, “thank you, mamma!  Thank you, papa!  I’d rather have this than a dozen visits to New York.  See, Kate, isn’t it a beauty?”

“Yes,” returned her sister sullenly; “but I don’t see why you should have a watch and I only this ring; you’re hardly more than a year older than I am and not a bit better girl”

“Come, come, don’t pout, Kitty,” said her father, stroking her hair; “your time will come.  Harry’s and Archie’s too, and even little Sophie’s,” he added, catching the household pet up in his arms, to give her a hug and kiss.

It was not until after tea that Mr. Ross missed his dog.  “Where’s Ranger?” he asked of one of the servants.

“Dade, sir, I don’t know,” she answered.  “Sure he went to the picnic wid the rest of the childer, an’ it’s meself as hasn’t seen him since.”

“Harry,” stepping out on the porch where the children, except the very little ones, who had already been sent up to bed, were sitting listlessly about, too weary with the day’s sports to care for anymore active amusement, “where’s Ranger?”

“Ranger?” cried Harry with a start, “why sure enough, I haven’t seen him since he came home! and I don’t think he came with us either.”

“No, he didn’t,” said several young voices.

“I wonder where he can be,” pursued Harry.  “Shall I go and look for him, papa?”

Mr. Ross was about to say yes, when his eye fell upon the face of his youngest son who, he noticed, looked very red and somewhat troubled.  “What do you know about it, Archie?” he asked; “can you tell us what has become of Ranger?”

“He behaved very bad indeed, papa,” stammered the boy; “he killed a dear little bird and tried to bite Vi, and me too—­and I sold him.”

The truth was out and Archie heaved a sigh of relief.

“Sold him?” repeated his father in a tone of mingled surprise and displeasure.

“Yes, sir:  to Jared Bates, for two cents.  Here they are:  I s’pose they belong to you,” said the little fellow tugging at his pocket.

“For two cents!” exclaimed Mr. Ross laughing in spite of himself.  “You’ll never grow rich, my boy, making such bargains as that.  But see here,” he added, growing grave again, “whose dog was it?”

“I—­I thought it was ours, papa.”

“Ours?  Yours to play with, but only mine to sell or give away.  You’ll have to go to Jared to-morrow, return his two cents, and tell him the dog is mine, and you sold what did not belong to you.”