"A kind Providence," he went on, rubbing his dry hands, and glancing
nervously under the chairs, "has put this honour into my hands."
"A Providence in petticoats, you mean," broke in George.
"Possibly, my dear Caresfoot; but I do not see him. Is it possible
that he is lurking yonder, behind the sofa?"
"Who on earth do you mean?"
"I mean that exceedingly fine dog of yours, Snarleyow. Snarleyow,
where are you? Excuse me for taking precautions, but last time he put
his head under my chair and bit me severely, as I dare say you
remember."
Arthur groaned at hearing the subject thus brought forward.
"Mr. Heigham's dog killed Snarleyow this afternoon," said George, in a
savage voice.
At this intelligence, Sir John's face became wreathed in smiles.
"I am deeply delighted--I mean grieved--to hear it. Poor Snarleyow! he
was a charming dog; and to think that such a fate should have
overtaken him, when it was only last week that he did the same kind
office for Anne's spaniel. Poor Snarleyow! you should really have him
stuffed. But, my dear Caresfoot, you have not yet introduced me to the
hero of the evening, Mr.
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