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stopped twisting lighters but they said nothing. They knew very well that when a grownup asked Mother a question, it was not their business to answer it, no matter how much they were interested.
    â€œWhy, Edmund,” said Mother calmly, “whatever would you do with a sheepdog in St. Louis?”
    â€œThe point is, Nero’s too good a dog for sheep. A little training and he’d be a fine bird dog. I know a chap who makes a business of training dogs. Nero would make me a splendid hunter, and you could easily get a new sheepdog.”
    â€œA good sheepdog requires as much training as abird dog, Edmund,” said Mr. Woodlawn, “and to my mind he serves a worthier purpose.”
    â€œYou have the mind of a farmer rather than a gentleman, John,” said Uncle Edmund.
    â€œThank you, Edmund,” replied Mr. Woodlawn gravely. “I appreciate that compliment more than you suspect.”
    â€œCome! come!” said Mother. “But surely, Edmund, you are not serious about taking Nero?”
    â€œMy heart is set on it, Harriet. You can see, yourself, how fond he is of me. I’ll bring him back next fall, a perfect hunter.”
    â€œOh, Uncle Edmund,” Caddie couldn’t help saying, “you wouldn’t take him?”
    â€œIt would be for his own good, Caddie,” said Uncle Edmund pompously. “He’s a noble animal.”
    Caddie’s fingers tightened in the thick wool on Nero’s back. How many times she had felt its comforting warmth when things had gone wrong and she had needed comforting.
    â€œNo, Edmund, I am very much opposed to your taking him,” said Mrs. Woodlawn.
    â€œNow, Harriet, please,” wheedled Uncle Edmund.
    â€œYou’re so careless, Edmund. You nearly drowned my child last week. You’d be sure to let something happen to Nero.”
    â€œNow, listen, my dear.” Uncle Edmund left his gun and came to hang over the back of his sister’s chair. “I’ll take perfectly good care of him. I’ll bring him back with me next fall. You know, Harriet, you never could refuse your little brother anything he wanted.”
    â€œDear! dear!” said Mrs. Woodlawn, settling her white collar and smoothing her hair. “Do let me be. You are worse than a mosquito, Edmund. John, what shall I say to him?”
    â€œIt is for you and Edmund to decide, Harriet,” said Mr. Woodlawn.
    â€œWell, then, take him,” said Mrs. Woodlawn in an irritated voice, “and take good care of him. I highly disapprove, but you always have your way, Brother, sooner or later.”
    â€œMy dear, good sister!” cried Uncle Edmund. He kissed Mrs. Woodlawn on the tip of her nose, and began to do a bit of a sailor’s hornpipe. Nero sprang up barking, and the children were so enchanted by this unaccustomed scene that they sprang up, too, laughing and quite forgetting the reason why they were so gay.
    They understood better the next day, when Uncle Edmund went on board the Little Steamer with Nero beside him on a leash. Nero jumped and barked, not knowing what they meant to do with him. Caddieknelt down beside him. Her face pressed against his rough coat, she clung to him a moment before Uncle Edmund led him away.
    â€œCome back again, some day, Nero,” she whispered. “Come back! come back!”
    The Little Steamer chugged away downstream and a cold wind blew up the river in their faces. Uncle Edmund and Nero had a long journey ahead of them. Down the Menomonie River to the Chippewa, down the Chippewa to the Mississippi, down the Mississippi to St. Louis, where Uncle Edmund lived.
    Tom and Caddie and Warren turned away from the dock and trudged back home to the farm. Somehow Uncle Edmund’s visit had not been as satisfactory this year as they had expected. When they reached home, there was no welcoming bark, no Nero to greet them.
    But it was too busy a time now to nurse regrets. There were the last wild