like a tiger, and with teeth still bared continued his kettle-like
reverberations. Aunt Amy, who hated dogs, loved Mr. Jellybrand, and
was not in the least sentimental when her personal safety was in
danger, cried in a shrill voice: "But take it away. Take it away.
Alice, tell him. It's going to bite Mr. Jellybrand."

The dog raised one eye from his dreamy contemplation of the trousers
and glanced at Aunt Amy; from that moment may be dated a feud which
death only concluded. This dog was not a forgetful dog.

Jeremy advanced. "It's all right," he cried scornfully. "He wouldn't
bite anything." He bent down, took the animal by the scruff of the
neck, and proceeded to lead it back to the fire. The animal went
without a moment's hesitation; it would be too much to say that it
exchanged a wink with Jeremy, but something certainly passed between
them. Back again on the Turkey rug he became master of the
situation. He did the only thing possible: he disregarded entirely
the general company and addressed himself to the only person of
ultimate importance--namely, Mrs. Cole. He lay down on all fours,
looked up directly into her face, bared his teeth this time in a
smile and not in a growl, and wagged his farcical tail.

Mrs. Cole's psychology was of the simplest: if you were nice to her
she would do anything for you, but in spite of all her placidity she
was sometimes hurt in her most sensitive places. These wounds she
never displayed, and no one ever knew of them, and indeed they
passed very quickly--but there they occasionally were. Now on what
slender circumstances do the fates of dogs and mortals hang. Only
that afternoon Mr. Jellybrand, in the innocent self-confidence of
his heart, had agreed with Miss Maple, an elderly and bitter