such a fashion that "her flesh crept." . . . She never struck him
again.

For Jeremy he became more and more of a delight. He understood so
much. He sympathised, he congratulated, he sported, always at the
right moment. He would sit gravely at Jeremy's feet, his body
pressed against Jeremy's leg, one leg stuck out square, his eyes
fixed inquisitively upon the nursery scene. He would be motionless;
then suddenly some thought would electrify him--his ears would cock,
his eyes shine, his nose quiver, his tail tumble. The crisis would
pass; he would be composed once more. He would slide down to the
floor, his whole body collapsing; his head would rest upon Jeremy's
foot; he would dream of cats, of rats, of birds, of the Jampot, of
beef and gravy, of sugar, of being washed, of the dogs' Valhalla, of
fire and warmth, of Jeremy, of walks when every piece of flying
paper was a challenge, of dogs, dogs that he had known of when he
was a puppy, of doing things he shouldn't, of punishment and wisdom,
pride and anger, of love-affairs of his youth, of battle, of
settling-down, of love- affairs in the future, again of cats and
beef, and smells--smells--smells, again of Jeremy, whom he loved.
And Jeremy, watching him now, thus sleeping, and thinking of Dick
Whittington, wondered why it was that a dog would understand so
easily, without explanations, the thoughts and desires he had, and
that all grown-up people would not understand, and would demand so
many explanations, and would laugh at one, and pity one, and despise
one. Why was it? he asked himself.

"I know," he suddenly cried, turning upon Helen; "it can be your
birthday treat!"