Here the cat turned and soundly cuffed a pair of fat beagle puppies, who shrieked and fled, burrowing for safety into the yelling heap of children and dogs on the floor.  Above this heap legs, arms, and the tails of dogs waved wildly for a moment, then a small boy, blond hair in disorder, staggered to his knees, and, setting hollowed hand to cheek, shouted:  “Hi! for’rard!  Harkaway for’rard!  Take him, Rags!  Now, Tatters!  After him, Owney!  Get on, there, Schnitzel!  Worry him, Stinger!  Tally-ho-o!”

At which encouraging invitation the two fat beagle pups, a waddling dachshund, a cocker, and an Irish terrier flew at Selwyn’s nicely creased trousers; and the small boy, rising to his feet, became aware of that astonished gentleman for the first time.

“Steady, there!” exclaimed Selwyn, bringing his walking stick to a brisk bayonet defence; “steady, men!  Prepare to receive infantry—­and doggery, too!” he added, backing away.  “No quarter!  Remember the Alamo!”

The man at the door had been too horrified to speak, but he found his voice now.

“Oh, you hush up, Dawson!” said the boy; and to Selwyn he added tentatively, “Hello!”

“Hello yourself,” replied Selwyn, keeping off the circling pups with the point of his stick.  “What is this, anyway—­a Walpurgis hunt?—­or Eliza and the bloodhounds?”

Several children, disentangling themselves from the heap, rose to confront the visitor; the shocked man, Dawson, attempted to speak again, but Selwyn’s raised hand quieted him.

The small boy with the blond hair stepped forward and dragged several dogs from the vicinity of Selwyn’s shins.

“This is the Shallowbrook hunt,” he explained; “I am Master of Hounds; my sister Drina, there, is one of the whips.  Part of the game is to all fall down together and pretend we’ve come croppers.  You see, don’t you?”

“I see,” nodded Selwyn; “it’s a pretty stiff hunting country, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.  There’s wire, you know,” volunteered the girl, Drina, rubbing the bruises on her plump shins.

“Exactly,” agreed Selwyn; “bad thing, wire.  Your whips should warn you.”

The big black cat, horribly bored by the proceedings, had settled down on a hall seat, keeping one disdainful yellow eye on the dogs.

“All the same, we had a pretty good run,” said Drina, taking the cat into her arms and seating herself on the cushions; “didn’t we, Kit-Ki?” And, turning to Selwyn, “Kit-Ki makes a pretty good fox—­only she isn’t enough afraid of us to run away very fast.  Won’t you sit down?  Our mother is not at home, but we are.”

“Would you really like to have me stay?” asked Selwyn.

“Well,” admitted Drina frankly, “of course we can’t tell yet how interesting you are because we don’t know you.  We are trying to be polite—­” and, in a fierce whisper, turning on the smaller of the boys—­“Winthrop! take your finger out of your mouth and stop staring at guests!  Billy, you make him behave himself.”