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"A maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love."-Wordsworth. Marjory was lying under a tree in the wood beyond her uncle's garden; her head was hidden in the long, soft coat of a black retriever, and she was crying-sobbing bitterly as if her heart would break, and as if nothing could ever comfort her again. "O Silky," she moaned, "if you only knew, you would be so sorry for me." The faithful dog knew that something very serious was the matter with his young mistress, but he could only lick her hands and wag his tail as well as he was able with her weight upon his body.