s own good self once more, bent and rested a firm,
unhesitating hand on Michael's head. Nay, more; he even caressed the
ears and rubbed about the roots of them. And Michael the merry-hearted,
who fought like a lion and forgave and forgot like a man, laid his neck
hair smoothly down, wagged his stump tail, smiled with his eyes and ears
and mouth, and kissed with his tongue the hand with which a short time
before he had been at war.

CHAPTER VII

For the rest of the voyage Michael had the run of the ship. Friendly to
all, he reserved his love for Steward alone, though he was not above many
an undignified romp with the fox-terriers.

"The most playful-minded dog, without being silly, I ever saw," was Dag
Daughtry's verdict to the Shortlands planter, to whom he had just sold
one of his turtle-shell combs. "You see, some dogs never get over the
play-idea, an' they're never good for anything else. But not Killeny
Boy. He can come down to seriousness in a second. I'll show you, and
I'll show you he's got a brain that counts to five an' knows wireless
telegraphy. You just watch."

At the moment the steward made his faint lip-noise--so faint that he
could not hear it himself and was almost for wondering whether or not he
had made it; so faint that the Shortlands planter did not dream that he
was making it. At that moment Michael was lying squirming on his back a
dozen feet away, his legs straight up in the air, both fox-terriers
worrying with well-stimulated ferociousness. With a quick out-thrust of
his four legs, he rolled over on his side and with questioning eyes and
pricked ears looked and listened. Again Daughtry made the lip-noise;
again the Shortlands planter did not hear nor guess; and Michael bounded
to his feet and to his lord's side.

"Some dog, eh?" the steward boasted.

"But how did he know you wanted him?" the planter queried. "You never
called him."

"Mental telepathy, the affinity of souls pitched in the same whatever-you-
call-it harmony," the steward mystified. "You see, Killeny an' me are
made of the same kind of stuff, only run into different moulds. He might
a-been my full brother, or me his, only for some mistake in the creation
factory somewhere. Now I'll show you he knows his bit of arithmetic."

And, drawing the paper balls from his pocket, Dag Daughtry demonstrated
to the amazement and satisfaction of the ring of passengers Michael's
ability to count to five.

"Why, sir