the rest of him; they were enormous. Down the length of his yellow back
were three raw furrows which the nails of the box cover had scraped as
he climbed from under them.

"Nice dog!" coaxed the lightkeeper's helper. "Nice doggie! Good old
boy!"

The good old boy pranced joyfully and made a charge at the door. Brown
slammed it shut just in time.

"Clear out!" he yelled, from behind it. "Go away! Go and lie down!"

The answer was a mighty howl of disappointment and an assault on the
door which threatened to shatter the panels. Job's paws were armed with
claws proportionate to their size.

This would never do. The paint on that door had been furnished by the
government, and Atkins was very careful of it. Brown, within, pounded
a protest and again commanded the dog to go and lie down. Job, without,
thumped and scratched and howled louder than ever. He had decidedly the
best of the duet, and the door was suffering every second. Brown picked
up the fire shovel and threw the door wide open.

"Get out!" he roared. "Get out or I'll kill you!"

He brandished the shovel, expecting an assault. But none came. It was
evident that Job knew a shovel when he saw it, had encountered other
shovels in the course of his brief young life. His ears and tail
drooped, and he backed away.