these the bloodhound was duly grateful. But dogs do not discuss such
needs. Finn himself was well fed each day at Nuthill, as a matter of
course. Frequently though he visited the down-ridge cave, he did not
live there, and being still attached to a regular man-made home, he
never adopted any set hunting routine, any more than he reverted to any
other among the habits of wild life. He did not reason with himself
regarding Desdemona's position or needs. When he thought of it, he gave
her food; but these thoughts of his were, quite naturally, less frequent
than the recurrence of Desdemona's conscious needs, underlined and
emphasized as these were by the tireless assertiveness of her five
children.

One result was that, within three days of the arrival of the puppies,
Desdemona was doing a certain amount of hunting on her own account,
especially in the seasons of twilight, both morning and evening. In her
movements she was, of course, infinitely slower than her wolfhound mate.
He could easily have run circles round her when she was traveling at her
fastest. Her sense of smell and tracking ability were immeasurably ahead
of Finn's powers in these directions, and in some countries this would
have stood her in good stead. It was no very great help to her, however,
in rabbit-hunting; and many a long and patient tracking ended for
Desdemona in nothing more nutritious than a view of her intended quarry
disappearing into the security of its earth or burrow while the hungry
hunter was still twenty paces distant. Then, perforce, poor Desdemona
would hurry back to her nursing, hungry as when she left it.

If Finn should arrive with food on such an evening or morning, so much
the better. If not--well, Desdemona gave herself utterly to her puppies.
There was no thought of grievance or complaint in her mind, but only the
earnest endeavor to satisfy, so far as she was able, all the calls of