“That is a quality in your sex that will cover a multitude of sins.”

“I am glad you have at last found something good in me,” I said, sorrowfully.

“You must not personally apply every generalization your friends may make in their conversation.”

“Then you give me permission to go?”

“It strikes me you are rushing to the other extreme.  I have never interfered with your rambles, except at unseemly hours.  Mill Road at mid-day is quite safe for the most unconventional young lady in Cavendish.”

I bowed my thanks, and turning away heard the library door shut.  I could fancy the expression on my guardian’s face as he returned to his books.  But, as I put on my wraps, my heart grew lighter although Mr. Winthrop’s last observation made me wince.  I took a crisp ten dollar bill.  Surely, I reflected, that could not be a dangerous sum to entrust the widow with, considering that she had a helpless father, and half-clad children to look after.  I took the kitchen on my way and begged a generous slice of meat from the cook to carry to Tiger.

“Most like they’ll have their own dinner off it first; they’ll think it a sin to give such meat to a dog,” I heard her mutter as I left the kitchen.  On my way I met Emily Fleming and Belle Wallace.  They laughingly inquired where I was going with my bundles; but I assured them it was an errand of mercy, and could not therefore be explained.  Miss Emily’s plump features and bright black eyes took a slightly contemptuous expression as she assured us I was rapidly developing into a Sister of Charity.

“Better be that than an idler altogether like the rest of us,” the more gentle natured Belle responded.

“If you are getting into a controversy I will continue my journey,” I said, nodding them a pleasant good morning and going cheerfully on my way, thinking of Tiger’s prospective gratification, coupled with that of the widow Larkums.

Going first to the Blakes, I found Tiger stretched out on the doorstep.  He wagged his tail appreciatively, but did not growl as I stroked his shaggy coat.

Examining him by daylight, I saw that he was a fine specimen of his species.  Daniel explained to me afterward that he was a cross between a St. Bernard and Newfoundland—­a royal ancestry, truly, for any canine, and unlike human off-shoots from the best genealogical trees, quite sure of inheriting the finest qualities of his ancestors.  I went into the house, the dog limping after me.  Mrs. Blake heard my voice and came in in some alarm.  She looked surprised to see me sitting by the table with Tiger’s massive head in my lap, while I unrolled the meat.  She also stood watching, and when the juicy steak was revealed, her own eyes brightened as well as Tiger’s.  “I haven’t seen such a piece of meat in many a day.  It minds me so of Oaklands.”

“I got it from cook for Tiger,” I explained.  “It is clean—­perhaps you would like a few slices off it.”