moth-haired dog. It turned and fastened its teeth on her hand, but very gently, as much as to say:—
"I'm bound to bark and bite if strangers come into my master's cabin, but I know you mean well, so I won't really bite."
Bobbie dropped the dog.
"All right, old man. Good dog," said she. "Here—give me the baby, Peter; you're so wet you'll give it cold."
Peter was only too glad to hand over the strange little bundle that squirmed and whimpered in his arms.
" Now," said Bobbie, quickly, "you run straight to the Rose and Crown and tell them. Phil and I will stay here with the precious. Hush, then, a dear, a duck, a darling! Go now, Peter! Run!"
"I can't run in these things," said Peter, firmly; "they're as heavy as lead. I'll walk."
"Then I'll run," said Bobbie. "Get on the bank, Phil, and I'll hand you the dear."
The baby was carefully handed. Phyllis sat down on the bank and tried to hush the baby. Peter wrung the water from his sleeves and knicker-bocker legs as well as he could, and it was Bobbie who ran like the wind across the bridge
