But even this could not hold her long in her restless frame of mind, so she went downstairs again, and out into the soft, golden September air, and fell to pacing up and down the gravel walk before the house like a slender, white-robed sentinel.

Presently there was a rustling in the bushes, then a hasty, joyful bark, and a little dog sprang forward and greeted Hildegarde with every demonstration of affection.

"Jock! my own dear little Jock!" she cried, stooping down to caress her favorite.

But as she did so she saw that it was not Jock, but Will, Pink's dog, which was bounding and leaping about her.

Much puzzled, she nevertheless patted the little fellow and shook paws with him, and told him she was glad to see him.