determined to leave.

"My senses are very delicate," he said. "I really cannot stand
the--well, the aroma exhaled by those three children when they
have had a warm bath."

"What nonsense!" cried Gissing. "The smell of wet, healthy
puppies? Nothing is more agreeable. You are cold-blooded: I don't
believe you are fond of puppies. Think of their wobbly black
noses. Consider how pink is the little cleft between their toes
and the main cushion of their feet. Their ears are like silk.
Inside their upper jaws are parallel black ridges, most
remarkable. I never realized before how beautifully and carefully
we are made. I am surprised that you should be so indifferent to
these things."

There was a moisture in Fuji's eyes, but he left at the end of
the week.



CHAPTER 3

A solitary little path ran across the fields not far from the
house. It lay deep among tall grasses and the withered brittle
stalks of last autumn's goldenrod, and here Gissing rambled in
the green hush of twilight, after the puppies were in bed. In
less responsible days he would have lain down on his back, with
all four legs upward, and cheerily shrugged and rolled to and
fro, as the crisp ground-stubble was very pleasing to the spine.