* * * * *
Two days later Anthony visited Patch for the second time.
The same relentless train that had rushed the two down to Hertfordshire that dreadful Thursday had become an easy-going friend. By pocketing his lunch, Lyveden could catch it with anything under five minutes to spare. This gave the two another three-quarters of an hour.
Their second meeting was a replica of the first.
Anthony was admitted, announced his desire, and sat down in the dim hall. Presently a brisk familiar step made itself heard—firm little paws meeting the tough linoleum squarely—and Anthony rose to his feet. Out of a passage came Patch readily, the fair-haired girl behind him bidding him go ahead. For a moment he looked about him. Then he saw Lyveden, stiffened and stood stock still. The next second, with his body clapped to the floor, he had darted sharply across and, laying his head sideways, crouched at his idol's feet—an adoring suppliant, craving to be raised.
"Why, Patch——"
The white scrap quivered and flung up a panting visage. Lyveden stooped and gathered him in his arms. The terrier licked his face frantically. Then he squirmed like a mad thing till he was down, tore to a basket of logs, and of his strength brought a billet gripped in his big mouth and laid it at Anthony's feet.
The girl laughed merrily.
"What did I tell you?" said Lyveden. "It's just the way of his heart.
I must always have a present when I have been away."
Lord and squire went for a wonderful walk. The woodland and meadows of
Hertfordshire fairly beggared the Parks….