IN BOOKS AND REAL LIFE 209 



their reproachful glances, as, bewildered and taken 

 aback, they humbly tucked their tails between their 

 legs. Now my Scotch terriers are of more sterling 

 metal. The butcher's dog, a squat bull-terrier, 

 with a dash of the collie, comes every morning for 

 orders, and they often ask him to stay. They bring 

 him on to the terrace before the windows, and do 

 their best to entertain the guest. They make no 

 secret of the intimacy, but keep it within certain 

 bounds. They acknowledge him, rubbing noses in 

 the fashion of the South Sea Islanders, when he 

 comes up, wagging his stump of a tail as we pass 

 through the village street. But they have taught 

 him never to presume, and he knows better now 

 than to join company, as he would do very gladly. 

 When he tried it on, refusing to take a hint, after a 

 glitter of teeth and some show of savage fighting, 

 he was rolled ignominiously into a ditch. Now 

 they are as good friends as before, but he under- 

 stands his place and keeps it. 



It is impossible to lose a dog in a neighbourhood 

 he knows, unless he lets himself be picked up, which 

 is unlikely. He naturally gives strangers a wide 

 berth, and it is long odds against his coming across a 

 professional dog-stealer with such an irresistible lure 

 as is valerian for cats. But as a rule he will take his 

 time about getting back, causing his master much 

 unnecessary anxiety. How he passes the time is 

 a mystery, for even an inveterate poacher will 

 seldom go on the hunt single-handed. The only 



exception I knew was an exceedingly handsome 



O 



