It's washing-day in the 'ouse, an' I'm busy." "Ah!" said Tilda politely, "I'm glad I came before you begun.
I want"-- here she unfolded her scrap of paper and made pretence to read--"I want to see the Reverend Doctor Purdie J.Glasson." "Then you can't," snapped the woman, and was about to shut the door in her face, but desisted and drew back with a cry as a formidable yellow dog slipped through the opening, past her skirts, and into the garden.
It was 'Dolph, of course.

Anxiety for his mistress had been too much for him, and had snapped the bonds of obedience; and knowing full well that he was misbehaving, he had come up furtively, unperceived.
But now, having crossed the Rubicon, the rogue must brazen things out-- which he did by starting a cat out of one of the dingy laurels, chivvying her some way into the house, and returning to shake himself on the front doorstep and bark in absurd triumph.
"'Dolph! 'Dolph!" called Tilda.
"Belongs to you, does he?
Then fetch him out at once! You, and your dogs!" "I'm fetchin' him fast as I can." Tilda pushed past her, and advanced sternly to the front doorstep.
"'Dolph, come here!" she commanded.

'Dolph barked once again defiantly, then laid himself down on the step in abject contrition, rolling over on his back and lifting all four legs skyward.
Tilda rolled him sideways with a slap, caught him by the scruff of the neck, and began to rate him soundly.

But a moment later her grasp relaxed as a door opened within the passage, and at the sound of a footstep she looked up, to see a tall man in black standing over her and towering in the doorway.
"What is the meaning of this noise ?" demanded the man in black.

He was elderly and bald, with small pig-eyes, grey side-whiskers, and for mouth a hard square slit much like that of the collecting-box by the gate.
A long pendulous nose came down over it and almost met an upthrust lower jaw.