between the eyes, bent over his polishing, and ever his lips moved,
repeating over and over, "Killeny Boy."




CHAPTER V


For a number of days Michael saw only Steward and Kwaque. This was
because he was confined to the steward's stateroom. Nobody else knew
that he was on board, and Dag Daughtry, thoroughly aware that he had
stolen a white man's dog, hoped to keep his presence secret and smuggle
him ashore when the _Makambo_ docked in Sydney.

Quickly the steward learned Michael's pre-eminent teachableness. In the
course of his careful feeding of him, he gave him an occasional chicken
bone. Two lessons, which would scarcely be called lessons, since both of
them occurred within five minutes and each was not over half a minute in
duration, sufficed to teach Michael that only on the floor of the room in
the corner nearest the door could he chew chicken bones. Thereafter,
without prompting, as a matter of course when handed a bone, he carried
it to the corner.

And why not? He had the wit to grasp what Steward desired of him; he had
the heart that made it a happiness for him to serve. Steward was a god
who was kind, who loved him with voice and lip, who loved him with touch
of hand, rub of nose, or enfolding arm. As all service flourishes in the
soil of love, so with Michael. Had Steward commanded him to forego the
chicken bone after it was in the corner, he would have served him by