A Popular Schoolgirl

value, until last week, when Mr. Hardcastle noticed him. Relations with that precise old neighbor next door had been rather strained for a long time, since the unfortunate episode when Hereward had unwittingly discharged the contents of the garden syringe in his face. For months he studiously avoided them, calling his collie away with quite unnecessary caution if they happened to pass him on the road, and bolting into his own premises if they met near the gate. But one day, about Christmastime, Sam, the collie, who was a giddy and irresponsible sort of dog, given to aimless yapping at passing conveyances, overdid his supposed guardianship of his owner’s property, and blundered into a motor that was whisking by. The car did not trouble to stop, and when it was a hundred yards away, Sam picked himself up and limped on three legs to show his bleeding paw to his agitated master. Fortunately Athelstane, from the bungalow garden, had witnessed the accident, and came forward like a Good Samaritan with offers of help. His elementary acquaintance with surgery stood him in good stead, and he neatly set the injured limb, and bound it up with splints and plaster. There had been many inquiries over the hedge as to the invalid’s progress, and congratulations when the bandages were able at last to be removed. Old Mr. Hardcastle had waxed quite friendly as he expressed his thanks, and one day, catching Ingred by the gate with Derry, he had volunteered the information that “that fox terrier of yours is a fine dog, and no mistake, and would be worth something to a fancier!”

“Sell Derry!” the idea, though she hated it, had taken possession of Ingred’s brain. He was the only thing she had that was of marketable value. To part with the poor little fellow would be like selling her birthright, but, after all, brothers came first, and how could Athelstane study without books? Something Mother had said the other day clamored in her memory. “If we’ve lost our fortune we’ve got our family intact, and we must stick tight together, and be ready to make sacrifices for one another.” Ingred had quite made up her mind. She put on her hat, took Derry from his cozy place by the kitchen fire, kissed his nose, and, carrying him in her arms, walked to the next-door house, rang the bell, and asked to see Mr. Hardcastle.

She found the old gentleman in a cozy dining-room, seated by a cheery fire, and reading the evening paper. He looked a little astonished when she was ushered in, but received her politely, as if it was quite a matter of course for a young lady, hugging a dog, to pay him an afternoon visit.

Ingred put Derry down on the hearth rug, took the armchair that was offered her, and with a beating heart and a very high color plunged into business, and inquired if it were possible to find a fancier who wished to buy a prize fox terrier.

“I’ve his pedigree here,” she finished, “and he really is a nice little dog. If you know of anybody, I’d be so glad if you would tell me please!”

Mr. Hardcastle, evidently much electrified, knitted his bushy eyebrows in thought, and pursed his mouth into a button.

“There was a vet. in Grovesbury who told me a while ago that he wanted one, but I saw him yesterday, and he said he had just bought one, so that’s no good! You might try the advertisements in The Bazaar. He looks a bright little chap. Why are you in such a panic to get rid of him? Been killing chickens?”

“No,” said Ingred, turning pinker still; “it isn’t that⁠—I don’t want to sell him, of course⁠—only⁠—only⁠—”

And then to her extreme annoyance, her brimming eyes overflowed, and she burst into stifled sobs.

The old gentleman shot his lips in and out in mingled consternation and sympathy.

“There! There! There!” he exclaimed. “Don’t cry! For goodness’ sake, don’t cry! Tell me, whatever’s the matter?”

It was, of course, a most unorthodox thing for Ingred to blurt out family affairs, and Father and Mother would have been justly indignant had they known, but she was impulsive, and without much worldly wisdom, and Mr. Hardcastle seemed sympathetic, so on the spur of the moment she told him the urgency of Athelstane’s need, and how she was trying to meet it. He sat quite quiet for a short time, staring into the fire, then he said, very gently and kindly:

“My dear little girl, you needn’t part with your dog. I believe I can lend your brother all the medical books he wants.”

“You! But you’re not a doctor?” exclaimed Ingred.

“No, but my boy was studying medicine at Birkshaw. He had just passed his intermediate M.B. when he was called up. I’ve got all his books. He won’t want them again now. He was flying over the German lines, and his machine crashed down. One comfort, he was killed instantly! He had always hoped he’d never be taken prisoner. I think he’d have liked his books to be put to some use. I’ll hunt them out, and send them across to your brother, and the microscope, and any other things I can find. He may just as well have them.”

There was a huskiness in the old gentleman’s voice, but he coughed it away.

“I don’t know how to thank you!” stammered Ingred.

“I don’t want any thanks. It’s only a neighborly act. Take your dog home, and say nothing about all this. I’ll write to your brother. I wonder I never thought about it before!”

Mr. Hardcastle was as good as his word, for next Monday evening quite a large consignment arrived for Athelstane, with a note offering the loan of books and microscope if they would be of any service in his medical studies.

“Why, they’re absolutely the very things I wanted!” exclaimed that youth rapturously. “What a trump he is! A real good sort! I say, you know, it’s really most awfully kind of him! I wonder what the