at ambitions and little sense,
disputed Pichou's tenure of a certain ham-bone. Dan Scott looked on
placidly while the dispute was terminated. Then he washed the blood and
sand from the gashes on Pecan's shoulder, and patted Pichou on the head.

"Good dog," he said. "You're the boss."

There was no further question about Pichou's leadership of the team. But
the obedience of his followers was unwilling and sullen. There was no
love in it. Imagine an English captain, with a Boer company, campaigning
in the Ashantee country, and you will have a fair idea of Pichou's
position at Seven Islands.

He did not shrink from its responsibilities. There were certain reforms
in the community which seemed to him of vital importance, and he put
them through.

First of all, he made up his mind that there ought to be peace and order
on the village street. In the yards of the houses that were strung along
it there should be home rule, and every dog should deal with trespassers
as he saw fit. Also on the beach, and around the fish-shanties, and
under the racks where the cod were drying, the right of the strong jaw
should prevail, and differences of opinion should be adjusted in
the old-fashioned way. But on the sandy road, bordered with a broken
board-walk, which ran between the houses and the beach, courtesy and
propriety must be observed. Visitors walked there. Children played
there. It was the general promenade. It must be kept peaceful and
decent. This was the First Law of the Dogs of Seven Islands. If two dogs
quarrel on the street they must go elsewhere to settle it. It was highly
unpopular, but Pichou enforced it with his teeth.

The Second Law was equally unpopular: No stealing from the Honourable H.
B. Company. If a man bought bacon or corned-beef or any other delicacy,
and stored it an insecure place, or if he left fish on the beach over
night, his dogs might act according to their inclination. Though Pichou
did not understand how honest dogs could steal from their own master,
he was willing to admit that this was their affair. His affair was
that nobody should steal anything from the Post. It cost him many night
watches, and some large battles to carry it out, but he did it. In the
course of time it came to pass that the other dogs kept away from the
Post altogether, to avoid temptations; and his own team spent most of
their free time wandering about to escape discipline.

The Third Law was this. Strange dogs must be decent