‘Yes, Dora, you may come,’ said she, running up-stairs to her own room, where she shut the door, and set Winifred on her feet again.  ‘Well, Winifred, let us see,’ said she cheerfully, ’are you much hurt?’

‘It bleeds,’ said Winifred, withholding her hand.

‘Not very much,’ said Elizabeth, removing the handkerchief, and washing off the blood, which had been more the cause of the scream than the pain.  She soon satisfied herself and her sisters that the bite was scarcely more than a scratch; and a piece of sticking-plaster, fetched by Dora, whose ready eye and clear thoughtful head had already made her the best finder in the family, had covered the wound before Mrs. Woodbourne came up to satisfy herself as to the extent of the injury.  Winifred had by this time been diverted from the contemplation of her misfortunes by the fitting on of the sticking-plaster, and by admiration of Anne’s bright rose-wood dressing-box, and was full of the delight of discovering that A. K. M., engraven in silver upon the lid, stood for Anne Katherine Merton, when her mamma came in.  It appeared that the little girl and her brother had been playing rather too roughly with Fido, and that he had revenged himself after the usual fashion of little dogs, especially of those not come to years of discretion.  Winifred was quite ready to assure her mamma that he had scarcely hurt her, and that she was very sorry she had cried so much.  Mrs. Woodbourne and Elizabeth, however, agreed that it would be better for her to appear no more that evening, and Dora undertook to keep her company in the nursery—­glad, as Elizabeth could see, to escape from the presence of Aunt Hazleby, who had sunk much in Dora’s good graces since her conversation with her in the afternoon.

‘If people would but let children alone,’ said Elizabeth, as the two little girls departed hand in hand; ’it puts me out of all patience to see her first made silly by being pitied, and then told she is an angel.  Too bad and too silly, I declare.’

‘You should consider a little, my dear, and not speak so hastily,’ said gentle Mrs. Woodbourne; ‘they mean it kindly.’

‘Mistaken kindness,’ said Elizabeth, as she opened the drawing-room door.

In a moment they were overwhelmed with inquiries for ’the sweet little sufferer,’ as Mrs. Dale called her.

‘I only hope there is no fear of the dog’s being mad,’ observed that lady.

‘Oh! there is no danger of that,’ said Elizabeth, knowing how such a terror would dwell on Mrs. Woodbourne’s spirits.  ’See, he can drink.’

Mrs. Hazleby had taken possession of the cream-jug, which had accompanied the coffee, and was consoling the offender by pouring some of its contents into a saucer for him.

‘But I thought it was water that mad dogs refuse,’ said Mrs. Dale.

‘Mad dog!’ cried Mrs. Hazleby, ’he is as mad as I am, I fancy; it was quite enough to make him bite when Edward there was pulling his ears.’