illuminates the small village. In the distance, high on a hill I see a great stone gothic mansion. Lights burning in the windows becon me on. It is the only sign of life here. My cart almost seem to be stuck in the muddy road. With the heavy rain poring down Dobbin pulls us toward a large wrought iron gate. Slowly the creeking gate opens, as if bidding us to enter. Poochi shivers by my side. He gives me a pleading look and howls. I pay him no mind and continue down the drive.

"Quiet Poochi, I am sure that there is someone here who will give a poor dog a bone."