had begun already! Oh, that wretch, Tommy! Into the water--but he
should go!

I hope their friends will not take it ill that, all his life after,
Clare felt less kindly disposed toward rats than toward the rest of
the creatures of God.

But things were not nearly so bad as Clare thought: the scuffling came
from quite another cause. It suddenly ceased, and a sharp scream
followed. Clare turned with the baby in his arms. Almost at his feet,
gazing up at him, the rat hanging limp from his jaws, stood the little
castaway mongrel he had seen in the morning, his eyes flaming, and his
tail wagging with wild homage and the delight of presenting the rat to
one he would fain make his master.

"You darling!" cried Clare, and meant the dog this time, not the
baby. The animal dropped the dead rat at his feet, and glared, and
wagged, and looked hunger incarnate, but would not touch the rat until
Clare told him to take it. Then he retired with it to a corner, and
made a rapid meal of it.

He had seen Clare pass the second time, had doubtless noted that now
he carried a loaf, and had followed him in humble hope. Clare was too
much occupied with his own joy to perceive him, else he would
certainly have given him a little peeling or two from the outside of
the bread. But it was decreed that the dog should have the honour of
rendering the first service. Clare was not to do _all_ the
benevolences.

What a happy day it had been for him! It was a day to be remembered