"Has it ever been to court?" I asked.
"Yes, indeed, she has!" said Janie. "Haven't you, Lassie darling? She's done all sorts of wonderful things, Aunt Katharine." (I was not really the children's aunt. They only called me so because we loved each other so much.) "She doesn't look like other dogs. She's much prettier."
"Yes, and more clever," put in Tom.
"She's certainly a very wonderful little dog," said Mrs. MacAlpine, who had finished arranging about the rooms. "And of all the strange stories you ever heard, Aunt Katharine, hers is the strangest. We'll tell you all about it when we've been upstairs and got a little of this dust off. What are you going to do this afternoon? Can't we have tea together by-and-by when we're clean and rested?"
"Oh, my cake!" I called out, suddenly remembering it. "My beautiful Paris cake! I must go and get it. We'll have our tea in the cabin on the beach, and Tom and Alec shall carry down the tea-things. We'll meet at the front door of the hotel at four o'clock;" and off I ran to get my parcels.
At four o'clock we went down in procession to the beach, and settled ourselves in front of our bathing-cabin.
And then Mr. MacAlpine began the story: "Once upon a time I lived with my father and mother and brothers and sisters in the beautiful islands called the Hebrides. The Hebrides, you know, are islands off the coast of Scotland, and they are noted for their wild and romantic scenery. But scenery, I am sorry to say, was something that I didn't much appreciate when I was a boy, and I would have given the whole of it for some boys of my own age to play with. My brothers were all older and my sisters younger than I, so I had to get my lessons and go to the manse to recite them by myself; and very lonely work it was too, until one day my father brought me home a blue Skye terrier, Lassie, just like this little dog here.
"From the first moment I saw her I loved her almost better than anything in the world. She was so little that I could take her about with me everywhere I went, tucked away in my plaid when we climbed the rocks and went long distances, and she always sat by me when I did my lessons, and I spent all my spare time playing with her and teaching her tricks. She could beg, and play dead, and wink one eye, and sneeze, and do more things than I ever heard of a dog's doing before or since, and she could understand everything I said to her exactly like a person, and altogether I was perfectly happy with her up to the time Lady Jane came to see us.
"Lady Jane was a cousin of my father's who was one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, and a very grand lady she was, indeed. She always came with so many boxes and bundles that we boys had a sort of feeling it would be polite for us to move out and give the house to her, and she also made us feel that everything she said must be obeyed, because she represented the Queen, and we had been brought up to be very good and loyal subjects. So you can imagine how I felt one day when she said to me: 'Tom, I'm going to take your little dog back with me as a present for her Majesty. You've trained her so nicely, and you won't care, will you? I'll send you something else in its place.'
"My very heart stood still at these words. Lady Jane had a way of having her own way if she wanted it, and none of us could stand out against her, and so I went to my mother about it. 'She wouldn't take Lassie, would she, mother?' I said, looking into her eyes to try to read there what she thought. And my mother said of course not, and comforted me, and I went off for a long walk and tried to think no more about it. But I couldn't help but feel uneasy, and after that I kept my dog out of the way as much as possible until in a little while Lady Jane seemed to have forgotten her. She was away nearly all the time—on excursions or visiting at the great houses in the neighborhood—so that we children seldom saw her, and by-and-by the last evening of her stay came.