free before, but the chicken had given him his wish for freedom, and
he meant to have the chicken. With one swift spring he caught the
bird, and in another moment his teeth were buried in its breast and
back, and the unfortunate straggler from the home roost was giving his
last cry, choked in its infancy by another grip from Jinks' mouth.

Jinks took the dainty morsel inside his kennel; for, now he had caught
the chicken, he had a guilty feeling, and, moreover, he wanted to
enjoy it in peace and privacy. And, oh, how he did enjoy it! Never in
all his life had he tasted anything so delicious--it was so young, and
juicy, and tender, and the flavor of it! He was obliged to stop every
now and then to lick his lips and relish it to the utmost, for he
would not have missed an atom of the pleasure for the world.

He ate the whole thing--flesh and bones and even the entrails: he also
ate a few feathers, which he did not particularly care about; but it
was impossible to get the delicious food without, and so he did not
care much. By the time he had finished, the only remains of the
chicken were the feathers, which floated about as though seeking for
their lost home.

By morning Jinks had removed every trace of his night's doings but the
broken rope and the feathers. He had licked every tiny spot of blood
off his mouth and coat, but he could not tie himself up again, and he
could not get rid of the feathers, although he had made several clever
attempts. He had tried to catch them with his mouth and paws, but they
had evaded him in the most wonderful manner, and had maddened him at
times by floating round him, and even alighting on his very nose, as
if to taunt him. In vain he slapped his nose sharply with his paw each
time he felt that nasty, irritating, tickling sensation. He always