.

POMONA ONCE MORE.
Sure enough, it was Pomona.

There stood our old servant-girl, of the canal-boat, with a crooked straw bonnet on her head, a faded yellow parasol in her hand, a parcel done up in newspaper under her arm, and an expression of astonishment on her face.
"Well, truly!" she ejaculated.
"Into the house, quick!" I said.

"We have a savage dog!" "And here he is!" cried Euphemia.

"Oh! she will be torn to atoms." Straight at Pomona came the great black beast, barking furiously.