Sometimes she would make a plunge into the water, splashing us all
over, and then she quickly scrambled out again, her ardour
considerably cooled.

"Well done, Fig! good little dog! at him again! never mind that rap
on the head from his wing."

Away swam the swan, and Fig after him, incessantly barking.

Had not the noble bird been grievously wounded he would have defied
the utmost exertions of the little spaniel, but as it was, he could
only get for a moment out of the reach of his pursuer by a violent
effort, which only left him more exhausted. And now they approached
the shore; and the swan, hard pressed, turns round and aims a blow
with its bill at the dog.

This Fig managed to elude, and in return made a snap at his enemy's
wing, and obtained a mouthful of feathers; but in revenge he received
on his nose a rap from the strong pinion of the bird that made him
turn tail and fairly yelp with anguish. "Never mind, brave Fig! good
dog! at him again! Bravo -- bravo! good little fellow!" There he
is, once more upon him. And now, master Fig, taught a lesson by the
smart blows he had received, endeavours to assail only the wounded
wing of the swan. It was a very fierce combat, but the swan would
probably have had the best of it had not loss of blood rendered him
faint and weak.

He still fought bravely, but now whenever he missed his adversary,
his bill would remain a moment in the water, as though he had
scarcely strength to raise his head; and as he grew momentarily