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Young Mr. Bowater, grimed, dusty, hatless, and his hair on end, and
Rollo following with his feathery tail singed, hurried up at once.
"I'm not fit to touch, Lady Rosamond," as he showed a black hand,
and bowed to the others.
"Where's Ju--where's my husband?" exclaimed Rosamond.
"Just behind, riding home with Raymond and the rest of them. Wasn't
it a magnificent flare-up? But there was no loss of life; and this
dog was of as much use as two men--carried whatever I told him."
"Good old man! You've suffered too!" said Rosamond. "Pah! you're
like a singed horse; but never mind, you're a hero."
"And where is Mr. Charnock Poynsett?" said Cecil, retreating from
the dog, which her sisters-in-law were vehemently patting.
"He was arranging with the mayor. Church, paper-mills, and town-
hall got the worst of it. It was well he came down; old Briggs, the
mayor, lost his head, and Fuller never had one. Every one gave
contrary orders till he came down, and then, didn't we work!"
The curate stretched his stalwart limbs, as if they were becoming
sensible of the strain they had undergone.


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