sharpened his voice in speaking to Finn. If Finn were verbally
reproached by a member of the household, one saw his head droop and his
eyes cloud. Jan would wag his tail while being scolded, even vehemently,
and five minutes later would require a second call, and in a sharp tone,
before turning aside from an interesting scent or a twig in the path.

Withal, Jan's faults, such as they were, were no more seriously
objectionable than the faults of a well-bred, high-spirited,
good-hearted English school-boy. Finn's disposition was knightly; but it
was the disposition of a tried and veteran knight and not of a dashing
young gallant. Under his thick black-and-gray coat Jan did carry a few
scars, so shrewdly had Grip's fangs done their work; but life had hardly
marked him as yet; certainly he carried none of life's scars. Also, good
and sound as his heart was, clean and straight though he was by nature,
he never had that rare and delicate courtliness which so distinguished
his sire among hounds. Even Desdemona, great lady that she undoubtedly
was, had not the wolfhound's grave courtesy. Neither had Jan. He was
more bluff. The bloodhound in him made him look solemn at times; but he
was not naturally a grave person at all.

On the other hand, Jan was no longer a puppy. The hardening and
furnishing process would continue to improve his physique till after the
end of his second year; but he had definitely laid aside puppyhood in
his eighteenth month and had a truly commanding presence. He was three
inches lower at the shoulder than his sire--the tallest hound in
England--yet looked as big a dog because built on slightly heavier
lines. He had the wolfhound's fleetness, but with it much of the massy
solidity of the bloodhound. His chest was immensely deep, his fore legs,
haunches, and thighs enormously powerful. And the wrinkled massiveness
of his head, like the breadth of his black saddle, gave him the