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 My aunt says if I don’t sell him she’ll have him killed. Will you keep him for me till my people come home? Oh, do—he really is an angel. And give me your name and address. You must think me a maniac, but I am so horribly fond of him. Will you?”

“Of course I will,” he said heartily, “but I shall pay for him. I’ll write a cheque: you can pay me when you get him back. Thank you—yes, I am sure that pin-cushion would delight my aunt.”

Judy, with burning cheeks, found her way back to her stall.

“Oh, Alcibiades,” she said, unfastening the blue ribbon, “I’m sure he’s nice. Don’t bite him, there’s a dear!”

A cheque signed “Richard Graeme” and a card with an address came into Judy’s hands, and the chain of Alcibiades left them.

“I know you’ll be good to him,” she said; “don’t give him meat, only biscuit, and sulphur in his drinking water. But you know all that. You’ve got me out of a frightful hole, and I’ll bless you as long as I live. Good-bye.” She stooped to the Aberdeen, now surprised and pained. “Good-bye, my dear old boy!”

And Alcibiades, stubborn resistance in every