"_Vaya Con Dios!_" they cried in chorus.

Nan was in raptures over the whole episode, but especially over the puppy.
The latter, with the instantaneous adaptability of extreme youth, had
snuggled down into a compact ball, and was blinking one hazy dark blue eye
upward at his new mistress.

"Weren't they nice people," cried Nan, "and wasn't it an adventure? And
isn't he just the dearest, cutest little thing? You're not a little Spanish
dog any more, you know. You're a--what is it they call us?--oh, yes! You're
a gringo now. Why, that's a fine idea! Your name is Gringo!"

And Gringo he became henceforth.

"What kind of a dog is he?" she asked.

Keith grinned sardonically.

"Of course I do not know his honoured father," said he, "so I cannot offer
an opinion as to that half of him. But on his mother's side he is
bloodhound, bulldog, collie, setter, pointer, St. Bernard, and Old English
sheepdog."

"Which?"' asked Nan puzzled.

"All," asserted Keith.

Now suddenly the sun was blotted out. They looked back: a white bank of fog
was rolling in from the sea. It flowed over the hills like a flood,
reaching long wisps down into the hollows, setting inertly in the flats and