habit; most likely Satan simply wanted to go home--but when that gun
rose, Satan rose too, on his haunches, his tongue out, his black eyes
steady and his funny little paws hanging loosely--and begged! The boy
lowered the gun.

"Down, sir!" Satan dropped obediently, but when the gun was lifted
again, Satan rose again, and again he begged.

"Down, I tell you!" This time Satan would not down, but sat begging for
his life. The boy turned.

"Papa, I can't shoot that dog." Perhaps Satan had reached the stern old
overseer's heart. Perhaps he remembered suddenly that it was Christmas.
At any rate, he said gruffly:

"Well, let him go."

"Come here, sir!" Satan bounded toward the tall boy, frisking and
trustful and begged again.

"Go home, sir!"

Satan needed no second command. Without a sound he fled out the
barn-yard, and, as he swept under the front gate, a little girl ran out
of the front door of the big house and dashed down the steps, shrieking:

"Saty! Saty! Oh, Saty!" But Satan never heard. On he fled, across the
crisp fields, leaped the fence and struck the road, lickety-split! for
home, while Dinnie dropped sobbing in the snow.