Shop, properly so called, it has none; but the forepart of its conservatory is furnished with neat mahogany counters and a snug littledesk so completely fitted as to form a cabinet counting-house. A few choice flowers are in the windows, but the usual collection of giant pumpkins and dwarf orange trees is thrust far into the background. Such things are part of a florist's stock-in-trade, and so they are here; but Crawfurd Ross hates and positively feels pained at the sight of floral and vegetable monstrosities, and he is careful not to give them prominence. A flourishing grape vine runs around the walls and over the roof of the conservatory; and here and there its. grateful greenery is relieved by exquisite little pictures suspended from the beams or attached to the sashes. Crawfurd Ross is very proud of these. He never enters the conservatory without casting an affectionate glance towards them. He has some reason to be proud. The pictures are water-colour drawings, exquisitely done by his elder daughter, Jeanie Ross; and they all represent either new varieties of flowers first introduced by the studious old gardener, or else old favourites reared by him in such perfection as to startle the floricultural world, and to make it ring with the name and fame of Crawfurd Ross of Nookham Nursery. There is apparently no one in the shop this summer afternoon. The round-faced, briskly and busily ticking little clock behind the desk strikes the hour with rapid and impatient strokes upon a mellowsounding gong. Its manner somehow reminds one of a busy neighbour, who is quite willing to "pass the time o' day" with you, but in whose sharp tones there is a something that reminds you he cannot stop to gossip. "One-two-three-four"-there was hardly any interval between the decided strokes. Ere the sound had died away, a movement under the counter was audible. Then came another sound-this time it was. as of a long-drawn, languid, protesting, and unmistakably drowsy midsummer afternoon sort of yawn. It proceeded from one Ken, the florist's invaluable assistant, who had been enjoying his usual siesta · under the counter; and now he comes towards the front door, strenu ously stretching and straightening his limbs, yawning most contagiously, and gazing quite reproachfully at the faithful clock. Trying the door, he finds it locked. Growling out some unintelligible but obviously impatient remark, he again yawns stupendously, and glances towards the door at the other end of the conservatory-the door which leads to the nursery grounds. This door is open, às Ken with evident satisfaction perceives, for he at once shakes off his languor and walks forth with resolution re-braced. Turning sharply to the left, he comes to the front gate of the grounds. This is shut, but it is not locked, and Ken easily raises the latch. Arrived at the roadway, he smartly sets off in the direction of Larkspur Lane. Ken is evidently a well-known character in Nookham. First he meets the baker's man, who says, "Hullo, old man! So you're off, then!" Ken simply gives a dignified nod and passes on. Then the butcher goes by in a cart, and hails Ken with a most condescending whistle, but Ken does not seem overwhelmed by the honour. Indeed, he looks after the butcher as if he is thinking that the cart is being driven at a pace far greater than that prescribed by statute law, and much exceeding that indicated by nature on such a day. Next, the postman comes lamely toiling along, with a heavy bag on his shoulders, and his cheese-cutter cap thrust as far back as it will go without falling off his head. His face is as scarlet as the collar of his coat. His careworn countenance brightens up as he sees our friend, and he says, cheerfully, "Well, Mr. Ken, how are you to day, sir? Keep yourself warm?" Ken does not reply verbally, but he offers to shake hands in a way that is extremely sympathetic and expressive. It seems to imply, "My dear fellow! That goes without saying! The day is, indeed, too warm for words; pray let us shake hands and drop the weary subject." All this the postman understands most thoroughly, and he replies, "Well, I daresay you've got your work to do, and have no time to spare, like me. Good-bye, old fellow!" And again shaking hands-this time very heartily-they part, rather reluctantly, for they are very great friends. Ken had not gone far before his progress was again interrupted. This time he paused not to exchange another friendly greeting; his attention was arrested by the appearance of a stranger upon the horizon. A stranger in Nookham was rather an unusual sight, The advent of stranger would bring two-thirds of the inhabitants to their doors and windows, where they would remain wasting the time in speculative gossip long after the phenomenon had disappeared. Ken, although of Scottish birth, was a thoroughly naturalized Nookhamite, and he was endowed with more than his due share of the native curiosity, especially concerning strangers. And this stranger, as he came within the range of observation, was seen to be an object that might afford ample excuse for curiosity. True, it was only a patch-eyed, stumpy tailed fox-terrier; but the animal was all wet and bedraggled, and stained with mud and blood, and his outline was dim and vague to the distant observer, by reason of the cloud of vapour which reeked from the dog's damp coat. Under the hot sun the terrier was toiling along, bearing in his mouth a heavy burden-something bigger than himself. "Hullo!" thought Ken, "what a suspicious looking customer! How wet and muddy he is; and there's blood on his coat. And surely that's a duck he is carrying! Ah! I see what it all means! The rascally tramp has been poaching. I'll make his hide smoke ! " The terrier saw the approach of Ken, and knew that he could only escape by forsaking his prey. He scorned to do that, so, dropping his burden, he planted his sturdy little feet upon it in an attitude of defiance, and bared a formidable array of gleaming teeth. Yet, insolent as was his manner, he obviously knew that he was in the wrong. Even as he growled and showed his teeth, his tail at the same instant was agitated by two or three beseeching little jerks, as though its possessor would say, "Peace is my policy. Why can't you let me be? But if you won't, why, I'm a desperate dog, and I will rather die than yield." But Ken, on his part, was stern and uncompromising. He was determined to vindicate the right even at the cost of bloodshed. He took a brief survey, gathered his forces, and was about to storm the position, when his attention was startlingly diverted. That piercing shriek-surely it was none but Rosina Ross who uttered it. Ken had never heard her shriek, except when she was singing, which, with her, was mostly a sort of artistic shrieking. And, in truth, there was a good deal that was either artistic or artificial about this particular shriek, which had so suddenly arrested Ken's inquiry into this matter of police. At any rate, Ken at once recognized Rosina's voice, and he supposed that she would not raise it in the public highway, excepting under circumstances which rendered his presence beside her eminently desirable. Accordingly, the evil-disposed terrier was allowed to remain master of the situation, for Ken at once wheeled round and ran off at the top of his speed, to attend to what he conceived to be a superior call to duty. CHAPTER IV.-"MY BROTHER RANDALL.” "Он, Ken! you dear, dear doggie! You splendid creature! Won't the master be proud of his collie when he hears of this!" exclaimed Jeanie Ross, as she absolutely hugged the four-footed hero, all heedless that his dense coat had absorbed a quantity of water which, in such dry weather, must have represented a really serious loss to such a tiny river as the Dabble. He had arrived just in the nick of time. Sagacious fellow that he was, he saw at a glance why Rosina had shrieked, and without a. moment's pause he plunged into the stream, and seized hold of the drowning boy's garments. Master Tommy Copeland was perhaps not quite so heavy as Ken. The gallant collie, swimming strongly against the current, opposed his substantial body against the slight bulk of the child, and soon succeeded in steering him to the bar k, where Jeanie was waiting with arms eagerly outstretched to assist in the. landing. Tommy was instantly grassed, and was found to be lit tle the worse for his mishap. In fact he had not received nearly such a shock as Jeanie. After a little preliminary gasping and coughing, rubbing of the eyes, and wringing of the hair, he suddenly exclaimed, half triumphantly, half shyly— "Got him, see, Miss Jeanie! Ain't he a big un? And he's got a gold breast. Will he grow into a gold fish if I keep him in a glass bowl, and feed him on dandelions and buttercups?" And opening the hand which had until then remained convulsively clasped, he displayed the half-dead fish the capture of which had so nearly proved fatal to himself. Jeanie, half inclined to laugh, half inclined to cry, and trembling violently, could not speak. Tommy, feeling somewhat embarrassed, sought relief by talking garrulously— "Ain't your Ken a fine dog! May I give him a kiss?" suiting the action to the word; Ken accepting the caress with becoming dignity. "Is Ken a sheep dog? Why don't Mr. Ross get some sheep for him? My brother Randall, what's a soldier in the Royal Ingeneers, he's going to buy me a dog like Ken, when he goes to Scotland, and when the Queen makes him a sergeant. He's a full corp'ral now, and he wears two gold stripes on Hullo! where's my boots?" They were at the bottom of the Dabble, and Jeanie, having seen that Rosina had thoroughly recovered from her really self-imposed swoon, indicated their whereabouts to Ken, who speedily restored them to their delighted owner. The boy would have renewed his demonstrations towards the dog; but this time Ken evaded his grasp, and, with an impatient bark, went off about the business upon which he had originally started from the nursery. Master Tom again grew talkative. "There's a proper chapto fetch up my boots! My murrer says she got them boots out o' the wash-tub, and when I arksks her why they wasn't wet, and was they made o' wash-leather, then, she larfs, and she says, 'Ah, Tommy, you're too mattererfack!' I don't know what she means, d'you? Would Ken fetch my boots if they was in the sea? I ain't never been to see the sea, have you? My brother Randall says he'll take me and murrer to the sea, one of these days, when he gets his stripe. My brother Randall's got the marksman's badge. Its guns and stars, on his arm. My brother Randall says you're—" "You'd better let your brother Randall speak for himself. Why, you little pickle! what have you been about?" Randall Copeland, as he spoke, greeted Jeanie Ross with a military salute, and stooped down to kiss the wet face of his little scapegrace brot ier. Explanations ensued on both sides. Jeanie modestly related I ommy's adventure, and Randall, after cordially thanking her for the important part she had played in it, and after lavishing the most extravagant praise upon the canny collie Ken, intimated, with much bashfulness of manner, |