here."

That was the suggestion conveyed; and Finn would have been the more
angered about it, but for a vague feeling he had which he could in no
way account for--a sort of yearning desire to help his mate and do
something for her.

"She certainly doesn't seem to want me," he thought. And he tried to
brace himself by means of resentful recollection of the eager way she
had taken the bone he brought her. But much as he would have preferred
to sniff, look coldly down his muzzle, and walk off, he found himself
licking one of Desdemona's heavily pendulous ears in quite a humble and
solicitous manner. It was really rather annoying.

She jerked herself nervously away from him, with no more of deference
than she might have shown some too effusive and presumptuous puppy. And
yet, and yet the great wolfhound's bowels yearned in kindliness toward
this ungracious bloodhound mate of his; and when he did finally accept
her numerous hints and take his leave, it was with no thought of
resentment in his mind, but, on the contrary, with many a backward
glance over his wire-coated shoulder, and several low whines of farewell
from deep down in his throat. Altogether the evening, like the day
preceding it, was a depressing one for Finn, and he was not sorry when
the time came to stretch his great length upon his bed by the door of
the Master's room and sleep.

But when morning arrived Finn surprised his friend the cook by not
waiting for his customary dish of milk. Directly the back door was
opened he slipped out into the sweet, early sunshine of that fragrant
neighborhood, and was off at a good loping gait for the Downs. (It was a