"Be very careful!" whined the mother.

So Finn turned to the bigger pup, the black-and-gray, and licked him
carefully. There was no sign of a whimper from this sturdy chap. On the
contrary, he wriggled over on his round back and presented his equally
round, gray belly for the same treatment. So Finn gravely licked his
largest son all over in the approved maternal fashion, while Desdemona
looked on with a quaint mixture of expressions in her pain-drawn eyes.
The mixture was of pride and jealousy, approval and solicitude,
motherhood and matehood--quite a curious little study in expression.

And then came an odd, rather touching little incident. Using infinite
care to avoid disturbing or unsettling her full-fed little ones, the
bloodhound mother slowly, gently, and with much effort, raised her
aching body from the ground and stood a moment tremulously resting. Then
she nudged Finn with her nose, and gently, but quickly, nervously, edged
him out to the mouth of the cave. There the appeal of her liquid eyes,
no less than the meaning little whine which escaped her, said, plainly:

"Don't go inside! Stay there, on guard!"

And with a rush (despite her pain-racked state) Desdemona ran down the
slope in obedience to an imperative natural call. A few seconds later
and she stood drinking eagerly, quickly, beside the dew-pond. But for
all her haste and her parched throat and aching body, the mother bitch
was careful not to wet her coat, since that might have made their bed
chilly for the pups. Returning hotfoot, she found Finn immovable beside
the mouth of the cave, a formidable sentry.