the
day before.

The upshot of it was that, after disposing of a good portion of the
dinner placed in his big dish at six o'clock that evening (in the little
courtyard in which he had once held a tramp bailed up all night), he
picked up the large, succulent, and still decently covered knuckle-bone
designed for his dessert, and, carrying this in his mouth, set out for
the cave on the Downs. He probably had some small twinges of misgiving,
but endeavored to dismiss these by assuring himself that poor Desdemona
was no doubt very sorry for her ill-temper of the previous day; that she
doubtless was feeling his protracted absence keenly, and that it would
be only courteous and fair now to let bygones be bygones, and present
her with a really choice knuckle-bone by way of proving his forgiveness.

This was more or less the way in which the wolfhound's mind worked as he
ambled over the Downs that evening with his big knuckle-bone. (The cook
at Nuthill was one of Finn's most devoted admirers. In addition to the
appetizing golden-brown skin that coated it, this bone carried quite a
good deal of the short, dark-colored sort of meat which, though devoid
of juice, makes very agreeable eating, and lends itself well to canine
mastication.) And in view of this attitude of mind of his, Finn was
rather grievously disappointed by the result of his visit.

He found the Lady Desdemona uneasily prowling back and forth, and in and
out of the entrance to her cave. She perfunctorily touched Finn's nose
with her own (rather rough and hot) muzzle in greeting and, accepting
the knuckle-bone with somewhat unmannerly eagerness, carried it at once
to the rear of the cave. But when Finn made to follow her she returned
nervously to the mouth of the cave and stood there, blocking the
entrance. Most strangely stiff, preoccupied, and ill-at-ease, Finn
thought her.

"Glad to see you, and all that," her manner suggested; "but I don't much
think you'd better stay. I'm--er--busy, and--er--don't let me detain you
here."

That was the suggestion conveyed; and Finn would have been the more
angered about it, but for a vague feeling he had which he could in no
way account for--a sort of yearning desire to help his mate and do
something for her.

"She certainly doesn't seem to want me," he thought. And he tried to
brace himself by means of resentful recollection of the eager way she
had taken the bone he brought her. But much as he would have preferred
to s