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 work again. I jumped up in the dog-cart—to which Tommy was harnessed—and Tower Cottage was quickly reached.

"Tommy carried us all the way from London to Winchelsea," said Miss Terry, enthusiastically, "and he'll take us back again. We put our luggage on board—Punch, this young rascal of a terrier, who seems to live only to bark, and Prince. You'll see Prince—yes, and hear him, too, in a few minutes—for he's at the cottage. At a pretty roadside inn We found a wee kitten—it seemed to like me. It came running out to us and appeared lost. It gave such a funny little whine, which seemed to say 'Me-e-ne-e,' so I christened it Minnie on the spot. Isn't this country glorious? Isn't it the place for a rest? But, wait a little! Have I been ill? Yes, indeed. But we won't talk about that; still, it reminds me of a little story, and I thought perhaps you might like to hear it, because some of the people in it have appeared in your Magazine.

"We were stopping about a year ago at the Forest of Dean. There were a good many of us, among whom was Sir Morell Mackenzie. We made an excursion one day to Tintern. On the road my maid called out that something had got into her eye, and that she was in great pain. We stopped at the next village, but the chemist's shop was shut, the chemist being at church, for it was Sunday; but Sir Morell was bent on healing, and rang at the door, got down the different bottles himself, and with his own