"THE CAVALIER'S PETS." I

hungry enough before they came to this pass, I need not say
that the day never dawned when the Cavalier was reduced to
kindling a fire in the shelter of the hedge, gipsy fashion, and
cooking Roy and Reine for breakfast, dinner, or supper.
 But another day arrived when the prescribed fugitive had
wandered many a mile, and sat down faint and weary by a
brooklet that crossed his path. He had turned aside for the
purpose into a little wood through which the stream gurgled.
It was a golden harvest day, with the green of the fern chang-
ing to straw-colour, and the leaves of the wild cherry-trees
becoming brushed with crimson. He could hear the hearty
voices of the reapers from a cornfield beyond the wood in
which he had taken shelter; but there was no harvest or
ingathering for Master Neville. He scrupled even to draw
near to his fellow-creatures and ask grace from them in their
rejoicing, since he was in a specially hostile district.
 However, it was not his way to complain. He sat and
courted repose after his fatigue, while he listened to the trill
of the robin which was taking up the fuller song of earlier
song-birds. He had a hunch of bread in his wallet, and he
prepared to divide it with Roy and Reine.
 The little dogs had lost much of their sleekness and trim-
ness. No ribbons adorned their necks; their master had cut
off the last faded rag long ago. As he watched them listlessly,
he, was sorry to see the tokens of adversity in their roughening
coats, in the griminess of Reine, which gave her white livery
a strong resemblance to the greasy shabbiness of a disreput-
able white kitten that has run the gauntlet of all the pots
and pans in a kitchen. Then he glanced at his own ragged
sleeve and at the weather-stained skin beneath, and reflected