the bull-dog, and rolled right over him, but when he staggered to his
legs again, his throat was still in its cruel grip.

"Take your dog off!" shouted George, seeing that affairs had taken a
turn he very little expected.

"I fear that is impossible," replied Arthur, politely, but looking
anything but polite.

"If you don't get it off, I will shoot it."

"You will do nothing of the sort, Mr. Caresfoot; you set the dog on,
and you must take the consequences. Ah! the affair is finished."

As he spoke, the choking Snarleyow, whose black tongue was protruding
from his jaws, gave one last convulsive struggle, and ceased to
breathe. Satisfied with this result, Aleck let go, and having sniffed
contemptuously at his dead antagonist, returned to his master's side,
and, sitting quietly down, began to lick such of his numerous wounds
as he could reach.

George, when he realized that his favourite was dead, turned upon his
guest in a perfect fury. His face looked like a devil's. But Arthur,
acting with wonderful self-possession for so young a man, stopped him.

"Remember, Mr. Caresfoot, before you say anything that you may regret,
that neither I nor my dog is to blame for what has happened. I am
exceedingly sorry that your dog should have been killed, but it is
your own fault. I am afraid, however, that, after what has happened, I
shall be as unwelcome here as Aleck; so, if you will kindly order the