Major Gregory Doyle paced nervously up and down the floor of the cosy sitting room. Something's surely happened to our Patsy! he exclaimed. A little man with a calm face and a bald head, who was seated near the fire, continued to read his newspaper and paid attention to the outburst. Something has happened to Patsy! repeated the Major, Patsy meaning his own and only daughter Patricia. Something is always happening to everyone, said the little man, turning his paper indifferently. Something is happening to me, for I can't find the rest of this article. Something is happening to you, for you're losing your temper. I'm t, sir! I deny it. As for Patsy, continued the other, she is sixteen years old and kws New York like a book. The girl is safe eugh. Then where is she? Tell me that, sir. Here it is, seven o'clock, dark as pitch and raining hard, and Patsy is never out after six. Can you, John Merrick, sit there like a lump o' putty and do thing, when your niece and my own darlin' Patsy is lost-or strayed or stolen? What would you propose doing? asked Uncle John, looking up with a smile. We ought to get out the police department. It's raining and cold, and- Then we ought to get out the fire department. Call Mary to put on more coal and let's have it warm and cheerful when Patsy comes in. But, sir- The trouble with you, Major, is that dinner is half an hour late. One can imagine all sorts of horrible things on an empty stomach. Now, then- He paused, for a pass-key rattled in the hall door and a moment later Patsy Doyle, rosy and animated, fresh from the cold and wet outside, smilingly greeted them. She had an umbrella, but her cloak was dripping with moisture and in its ample folds was something huddled and bundled up like a baby, which she carefully protected. So, then, exclaimed the Major, coming forward for a kiss, you're back at last, safe and sound. Whatever kept ye out 'til this time o' night, Patsy darlin'? he added, letting the brogue creep into his tone, as he did when stirred by any emotion. Uncle John started to take off her wet cloak. Look out! cried Patsy; you'll disturb Mumbles. The two men looked at her bundle curiously. Who's Mumbles? asked one. What on earth is Mumbles? inquired the other. The bundle squirmed and wriggled. Patsy sat down on the floor and carefully unwound the folds of the cloak. A tiny dog, black and shaggy, put his head out, blinked sleepily at the lights, pulled his fat, shapeless body away from the bandages and trotted solemnly over to the fireplace. He didn't travel straight ahead, as dogs ought to walk, but cornerwise, as Patsy described it; and when he got to the hearth he rolled himself into a ball, lay down and went to sleep. During this performance a tense silence had pervaded the room. The Major looked at the dog rather gloomily; Uncle John with critical eyes that held a smile in them; Patsy with ecstatic delight. Isn't he a dear! she exclaimed.