“Then it followed you?” asked Miss Skipworth.
“Yes; all the way to Merchester, just as if it had been my own dog. When there was nobody in sight, it ran backwards and forwards and scampered about by itself; but whenever we met anybody—and we met some nasty-looking tramps, I can tell you, that I should have been terrified to meet alone—it came close to me, looking that big and fierce that the tramps kept well to the other side of the read, as far away from us as they could; and it stalked by me till they were out of sight, as is the way of collies when they scent danger ahead. I can’t tell you how delighted I was to have found such a splendid pet; and I made up my mind to take it home with me and keep it, unless some one claimed it; as aunt and I had long wanted a house-dog to take care of the shop at nights. And, besides, I thought it would be such a nice companion for me on all the long country-walks which I was so fond of taking out of shop-hours.”
“And did any one ever come and claim it?” asked Miss Skipworth with breathless interest.
“No; never. It followed me all the way to Merchester, wagging its tail whenever I spoke to it, and looking up at me with its soft brown eyes as friendly as never was; but it never let me touch it, though I tried to pat it once or twice.”
“And you took it home with you, the dear creature?”
Mrs. Batterby shook her head. “It followed me right into Merchester; but when I was safe in the town among all the gas-lamps and the people and the traffic, it turned round and scampered back along the road by which we had come. I whistled to it to come back, but I took no notice; and the last I saw of it was its yellow coat disappearing into the darkness.”
Miss Skipworth gave a deep sigh. “And you never saw it again?”
“Never.”
“And you never found out who it belonged to?”
A look came into Mrs. Batterby’s eyes that was new to Miss Skipworth. “I wouldn’t say that. As a matter of fact, I believe I did find out who it belonged to.”
“I suppose it was the sheep-dog of one of the neighbouring farmers,” suggested Mrs. Veale.
“Some might suppose so; but I don’t,” replied Mrs. Batterby, still with that wonderful smile in her sharp grey eyes. “For my part, I believe it was one of the angels of God.”
