smart and animated boy, and had enthusiasm and expression, and was a
contrast to Nikolaus and me. He was full of the last new mystery, now
--the disappearance of Hans Oppert, the village loafer. People were
beginning to be curious about it, he said. He did not say anxious
--curious was the right word, and strong enough. No one had seen Hans
for a couple of days.

"Not since he did that brutal thing, you know," he said.

"What brutal thing?" It was Satan that asked.

"Well, he is always clubbing his dog, which is a good dog, and his only
friend, and is faithful, and loves him, and does no one any harm; and two
days ago he was at it again, just for nothing--just for pleasure--and the
dog was howling and begging, and Theodor and I begged, too, but he
threatened us, and struck the dog again with all his might and knocked
one of his eyes out, and he said to us, 'There, I hope you are satisfied
now; that's what you have got for him by your damned meddling'--and he
laughed, the heartless brute." Seppi's voice trembled with pity and
anger. I guessed what Satan would say, and he said it.

"There is that misused word again--that shabby slander. Brutes do not
act like that, but only men."

"Well, it was inhuman, anyway."

"No, it wasn't, Seppi; it was human--quite distinctly human. It is not
pleasant to hear you libel the higher animals by attributing to them
dispositions which they are free from, and which are found nowhere but in
the human heart. None of the higher animals is tainted with the disease