But the next day, as I was preparing for my afternoon’s walk, the unwonted sound of our door-bell was heard.  “Is our introduction working already?” thought I, little expecting the announcement—­ “The Misses Stympson.”

However, there were Stympsons and Stympsons, so that even this did not prepare me for being rushed at by all three from Lake House—­two aunts and one niece—­Avice, Henny, and Birdie, with “How is he?” “Where is he?  He would not take anything.  I hope he went to bed and had something hot.”  “Is he in the house?  No cold, I hope.  We have brought the poor dear fellow for him to see.  He seems in pain to-day; we thought he would see him.”

At last I got in a question edgeways as to the antecedents, as the trio kept on answering one another in chorus, “Poor dear Nep—­your cousin—­nephew, I mean—­the bravest—­”

Then it flashed on me.  “Do you mean that it was for your dog that Harold went into the water yesterday!”

“Oh, the bravest, most generous, the most forgiving.  So tender-handed!  It must be all a calumny.  I wish we had never believed it.  He could never lift a hand against anyone.  We will contradict all rumours.  Report is so scandalous.  Is he within?”

Harold had been at the Hydriot works ever since breakfast, but on my first question the chorus struck up again, and I might well quail at the story.  “Lake Mill; you know the place, Miss Alison?”

Indeed I did.  The lake, otherwise quiet to sluggishness, here was fed by the rapid little stream, and at the junction was a great mill, into which the water was guided by a sharp descent, which made it sweep down with tremendous force, and, as I had seen from the train, the river was swelled by the thaw and spread far beyond its banks.  “The mill-race!” I cried in horror.

“Just observe.  Dear Nep has such a passion for the water, and Birdie thoughtlessly threw a stick some way above the weir.  I never shall forget what I felt when I saw him carried along.  He struggled with his white paws, and moaned to us, but we could do nothing, and we thought to have seen him dashed to pieces before our eyes, when, somehow, his own struggles I fancy—­he is so sagacious—­brought him up in a lot of weeds and stuff against the post of the flood-gates, and that checked him.  But we saw it could not last, and his strength was exhausted.  Poor Birdie rushed down to beg them to stop the mill, but that could never have been done in time, and the dear dog was on the point of being sucked in by the ruthless stream, moaning and looking appealingly to us for help, when, behold! that superb figure, like some divinity descending, was with us, and with one brief inquiry he was in the water.  We called out to him that the current was frightfully strong—­we knew a man’s life ought not to be perilled; but he just smiled, took up the great pole that lay near, and waded in.  I