perceived something peering at him from beneath the tangled curtain
of cottony, violet-scented stuff which seemed to be the upper part of
Flopit's face. It was Flopit's eye, a red-rimmed eye and sore--and so
demoniacally malignant that Clematis, indescribably startled, would
have withdrawn his own countenance at once--but it was too late. With a
fearful oath Flopit sprang upward and annexed himself to the under lip
of the horrified Clematis.

Horror gave place to indignation instantly; and as Miss Parcher and her
guest turned, screaming, Clematis's self-command went all to pieces.

Miss Parcher became faint and leaned against the hedge along which they
had been passing, but her visitor continued to scream, while Mr. Watson
endeavored to kick Clematis without ruining Flopit--a difficult matter.

Flopit was baresark from the first, and the mystery is where he
learned the dog-cursing that he did. In spite of the David-and-Goliath
difference in size it would be less than justice to deny that a very
fair dog-fight took place. It was so animated, in truth, that the one
expert in such matters who was present found himself warmly interested.
Genesis relieved himself of the burden of the wash-tub upon his back,
dropped the handle of that other in which he had a half-interest,
and watched the combat; his mouth, like his eyes, wide open in simple
pleasure.

He was not destined to enjoy the spectacle to the uttermost; a furious
young person struck him a frantic, though harmless, blow with a pink
parasol.

"You stop them!" she screamed. "You make that horrible dog stop, or I'll