Hardly a day passed now that did not bring the introduction of some new
interest for the black-and-gray pup. Novel experiences crowded upon him
at such a rate that he was always in some way absorbed. Meals were
frequent, and, of course, a matter of unfailing interest. Sleep also was
frequent, as it is with all healthy young things. Given, as he was,
plentiful liberty and abundance of fresh air and sunshine, Jan exhausted
himself about once an hour, and took a nap, from which he would awake
within five, ten, fifteen, or thirty minutes, as the case might be, once
more charged to the throat with high spirits, energy, and puppyish
abandon.

More by luck than good management, it happened in his seventh week that
he killed a mouse in the stable. For some time he mounted guard over his
kill, solemnly parading round and about it, emitting from time to time
blood-curdling growls and snarls intended to warn the dead mouse of the
frightful penalties it would incur as the result of any attempt to come
to life again.

Then, the stable door having been left ajar, Jan valorously gripped the
small corpse between his jaws and went swaggering off toward the house
with it, questing kudos. In the garden he met Finn, who with careless
good humor strolled toward him, offering a game. Jan tried his best to
growl and to turn up his nose at the same time, indicating serious
preoccupation with matters more weighty than play. But finding that his
hold upon the mouse was gravely endangered by this process, he gave up
the attempt, and swaggered on toward the front entrance, followed
quizzingly by the wolfhound. Finding nobody in the porch, Jan fell over
the step, dropped his mouse, growled fiercely, and then with a plunge
regained his prize, and so, past the place where the caps and coats
hung, over the mats into the hall.