from behind him, a growl that was half a bark and half a throaty gurgle,—a growl plainly meant to convey a warning. Miles turned again.
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"Wonder what the silly beast has
found?" he muttered. "Perhaps—why,
of course, it's the Princess!"
Smiling whimsically, he lowered himself cautiously over the wall and bent so that he could look under the low-hanging clusters of pink blossoms. A dozen yards away stood the dog, his head turned questioningly toward the man and his ridiculous stump wagging excitedly. Miles crept toward him. As he went, dodging the sprays of bloom, into the deep droning of the bees and the chattering of the birds crept a new note, the musical tinkling of running water. The ground sloped before him, and when he stood at Bistre's side he found himself looking
