upon its back.

"Don't go in there, Bart!" whispered the child. "Go on back!"

She took one of those pointed wolf-ears in her chubby fist and tugged to
swing him around, but Bart, with a speed which the eye could not follow,
twisted his head and the rows of great teeth closed over her hand. It was
so horrible that the cry froze in the throat of Gregg, yet the child, with
only a little murmur of anger, reached over with her other hand and caught
the wolf by the nose.

"Bad Bart!" she whispered, and raised the hand which he instantly released.
White marks showed on the pudgy tan. "Bad dog!" she repeated, and beat his
neck with an impotent little fist. The wolf-dog cringed, and turned from
the door.

"Come in," invited Gregg. He was surprised to find his voice thin, apt to
swing up to a high pitch beyond his control. A shower of golden curls
tossed away from her face as she looked to him. "Oh!" she cried, still with
a guarded voice. She leaned far over, one hand buried in the ruff of Bart's
neck to secure her balance, and with the other she laid hold of his right
ear and drew him around facing the door once more. This time he showed his
teeth but submitted, only twitching the ear back and forth a time or two
when she relaxed her hold.

"Come in," repeated Gregg.

She canted her head to one side and considered him with fearless blue eyes.

"I want to," she sighed.