torture, so we let him go on.

"A great many burglaries had lately taken place in our neighbourhood," he
began, "and the pater came to the conclusion that it was time he laid
down a dog. He thought a bull-dog would be the best for his purpose, and
he purchased the most savage and murderous-looking specimen that he could
find.

"My mother was alarmed when she saw the dog. 'Surely you're not going to
let that brute loose about the house!' she exclaimed. 'He'll kill
somebody. I can see it in his face.'

"'I want him to kill somebody,' replied my father; 'I want him to kill
burglars.'

"'I don't like to hear you talk like that, Thomas,' answered the mater;
'it's not like you. We've a right to protect our property, but we've no
right to take a fellow human creature's life.'

"'Our fellow human creatures will be all right--so long as they don't
come into our kitchen when they've no business there,' retorted my
father, somewhat testily. 'I'm going to fix up this dog in the scullery,
and if a burglar comes fooling around--well, that's _his_ affair.'

"The old folks quarrelled on and off for about a month over this dog. The
dad thought the mater absurdly sentimental, and the mater thought the dad
unnecessarily vindictive. Meanwhile the dog grew more ferocious-looking
every day.

"One night my mother woke my father up with: 'Thomas, there's a burglar