It was like the most delicate musk, but without any of the sickly smell common to that scent.

I believe Sandy knew of this personal peculiarity, and felt proud of it.
A far more unselfish and agreeable personage was Rose, the white terrier, whose name often finds a loving place in these pages.

She and Sandy dwelt together in peace and amity, although the little doggie never could have felt any affection for her selfish companion.

Rose's nerves were of a delicate and high-strung order, and there was nothing she hated so much as uproarious noise.

Every now and then it chanced that during a few days of wet or windy weather, our little house had been filled by passing guests: gentlemen who had called in to ask for supper and a bed, intending to go on next day.