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Daisy was forced to allow that this was so. ‘But what can it be?’ she said.

‘It’s disease,’ said her aunt, very solemnly. ‘I’ve read over and over again that corpulence has nothing whatever to do with the amount of food one eats. And, oh! Daisy, I don’t want to blame you, dear–but I’m afraid we have been depriving him of the nourishing things he really needed to enable him to struggle against the complaint!’

Poor Daisy was overcome by remorse as she knelt over the recumbent Don. ‘Oh, darling Don,’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean it–you know I didn’t, don’t you? You must get well and forgive me! I tell you what, aunt,’ she said as she rose to her feet, ‘you know you said I might drive you over in the pony cart to that tennis-party at the Netherbys to-morrow. Well, young Mr. Netherby is rather a “doggy” sort of man, and nice too. Suppose we take Don with us and ask him to tell us plainly whether he has anything dreadful the matter with him?’

Miss Millikin consented, though she did not pretend to hope much from Mr. Netherby’s skill. ‘I’m afraid,’ she said, with a sigh, ‘that only a very clever veterinary surgeon would find out what really is the matter with Don. But you can try, my dear.’

The following afternoon Miss Millikin entrusted herself and Don to Daisy’s driving, not without some nervous misgivings.

‘You’re quite sure you can manage him, Daisy?’ she said. ‘If not, we can take John.’

‘Why, Aunt Sophy!’ exclaimed Daisy, ‘I always drive the children at home; and sometimes when I’m on the box with Toppin, he gives me the reins in a straight part of the road, and Paul and Virginia pull like anything–Toppin says it’s all he can do to hold them.’

Daisy was a little hurt at the idea that she might find Aunt Sophy’s pony too much for her–a sleepy little ‘slug of a thing,’ as she privately called it, which pattered along exactly like a clockwork animal in urgent need of winding up.

Don seemed a little better that day, and was lifted into the pony-cart, where he lay on the indiarubber mat, sniffing the air as if it was doing him good.

Daisy really could drive well for her age, and woke the pony up in a manner that astonished her aunt, who remarked from time to time that she knew Wildfire wanted to walk now–he never could trot long at a time–and so they reached the Netherbys’ house, which was five miles away towards the head of the lake, well under the hour, a most surprising feat–for Wildfire.

It was a grown-up tennis-party, and Daisy, although she had brought her racket, was a little afraid to play; besides, she wanted to consult young Mr. Netherby about Don, who had been left with the cart in the stables.

Mr. Netherby, who was a good-natured, red-faced young soldier, just about to join his regiment, was not playing either, so Daisy went up to him on the first opportunity.

‘You know about dogs, Mr. Netherby, don’t you?’

‘Rath-er!’ said Mr. Netherby, who was a trifle slangy. ‘Why? Are you thinking of investing in a dog?’

‘It’s Aunt Sophy’s dog,’ explained Daisy, ‘and he’s ill–very ill–and we can’t make out what’s the matter, so I thought you would tell us perhaps?’

‘I’ll ride over to-morrow and have a look at him.’

‘Oh, but you needn’t–he’s here. Wait–I’ll fetch him–don’t you come, please.’

And presently Daisy made her appearance on the lawn, carrying Don, who felt quite a weight, in her arms. She set him down before the young man, who examined him in a knowing manner, while Miss Millikin, and some others who were not playing just then, gathered round. Don was languid, but dignified–he rather liked being the subject of so much notice. Daisy waited breathlessly for the verdict.

‘Well,’ said Mr. Netherby, ‘it’s easy enough to see what’s wrong with him. I should knock off his grub.’