m, from the pain standpoint, scarcely at all, and it never
entered his kinky head that his master did not know about it. For the
same reason he never suspected why Ah Moy kept him so at a distance. Nor
had Kwaque other worries. His god, over all gods of sea and jungle, he
worshipped, and, himself ever intimately allowed in the presence,
paradise was wherever he and his god, the steward, might be.

And so Michael. Much in the same way that Kwaque loved and worshipped
did he love and worship the six-quart man. To Michael and Kwaque, the
daily, even hourly, recognition and consideration of Dag Daughtry was
tantamount to resting continuously in the bosom of Abraham. The god of
Messrs. Doane, Nishikanta, and Grimshaw was a graven god whose name was
Gold. The god of Kwaque and Michael was a living god, whose voice could
be always heard, whose arms could be always warm, the pulse of whose
heart could be always felt throbbing in a myriad acts and touches.

No greater joy was Michael's than to sit by the hour with Steward and
sing with him all songs and tunes he sang or hummed. With a quantity or
pitch even more of genius or unusualness in him than in Jerry, Michael
learned more quickly, and since the way of his education was singing, he
came to sing far beyond the best Villa Kennan ever taught Jerry.

Michael could howl, or sing, rather (because his howling was so mellow
and so controlled), any air that was not beyond his register that Steward
elected to sing with him. In addition, he could sing by himself, and
unmistakably, such simple airs as "Home, Sweet Home," "God save the
King," and "The Sweet By and By." Even alone, prompted by Steward a
score of feet away from him, could he lift up his muzzle and sing
"Shenandoah" and "Roll me down to Rio."

Kwaque, on stolen occasions when Steward was not around, would get out
his Jews' harp and by the sheer compellingness of the primitive
instrument make Michael sing with him the barbaric and devil-devil
rhythms of King William Island. Another master of song, but one in whom
Michael delighted, came to rule over him. This master's name was Cocky.
He so introduced himself to Michael at their first meeting.

"Cocky," he said bravely, without a quiver of fear or flight, when
Michael had charged upon him at sight to destroy him. And the human
voice, the voice of a god, issuing from the throat of the tiny,
snow-white bird, had made Michael go back on his haunches, while, wit