imagine how scornfully Grip breathed through his nostrils as he saw Jan
driven off, with Finn, as escort, trotting alongside.

He bore no particular malice against Jan, and in his hard old heart
probably thought rather well of the bellicose youngster. But, given
reasonable excuse for the fray, he had been blithe to tear out the same
youngster's jugular; and, be the odds what they might, he would quite
cheerfully have stood up to mortal combat with Finn himself. But as
things were, the first meeting of these three since the fight in the
lane passed off quite peacefully.

All the same, there was a ragged fringe to one of Grip's ears, and for
weeks he had limped sorely on his near fore leg. It was written in his
mind that Jan must pay, and pay dearly, for those things, when a
suitable occasion offered. He was no swashbuckler, and did not know what
it meant to ruffle it among the peaceably inclined for the fun of the
thing; but, or it may be because of that, Grip never forgot an injury,
and, if he had known what forgiveness meant, would have regarded it as
an evidence of silly weakness unworthy any grown dog.

It is certain that Finn bore Grip no malice. That was not his way. Grip
had offended by his ruthless onslaught upon a half-grown pup, and Finn
had trounced him soundly for that. Now that they met, some months
afterward, Finn thought it wise to give warning, by way of showing that
he, in his high place, was watchful. Hence his long, low growl. In his
adventurous life Finn had many times killed to eat, as he had frequently
killed in fighting and as an administrator of justice. But he never had
borne malice and never would, for that would have been clean contrary to
the instincts of his nature and breeding.