ular black he had picked
upon. This time Harley's voice was peremptory, and Jerry came to him,
his wagging tail and wriggling body all eagerness of apology, as was his
rose-strip of tongue that kissed the hand of forgiveness with which
Harley patted him.

Next, Villa called him to her. Holding him close to her with her hands
on his jowls, eye to eye and nose to nose, she talked to him earnestly
about the sin of nigger-chasing. She told him that he was no common bush-
dog, but a blooded Irish gentleman, and that no dog that was a gentleman
ever did such things as chase unoffending black men. To all of which he
listened with unblinking serious eyes, understanding little of what she
said, yet comprehending all. "Naughty" was a word in the _Ariel_
language he had already learned, and she used it several times.
"Naughty," to him, meant "must not," and was by way of expressing a
taboo.

Since it was their way and their will, who was he, he might well have
asked himself, to disobey their rule or question it? If niggers were not
to be chased, then chase them he would not, despite the fact that Skipper
had encouraged him to chase them. Not in such set terms did Jerry
consider the matter; but in his own way he accepted the conclusions.

Love of a god, with him, implied service. It pleased him to please with
service. And the foundation-stone of service, in his case, was
obedience. Yet it strained him sore for a time to refrain from snarl and
snap when the legs of strange and presumptuous blacks passed near him
along the _Ariel's_ white deck.

But there were times and times, as he was to learn, and the time came
when Villa Kennan wanted a bath, a real bath in fresh, rain-descended,
running water, and when Johnny, the black pilot from Tulagi, made a
mistake. The chart showed a mile of the Suli river where it emptied into
the sea. Why it showed only a mile was because no white man had ever
explored it farther. When Villa proposed the bath, her husband advised
with Johnny. Johnny shook his head.

"No fella boy stop 'm along that place," he said. "No make 'm trouble
along you. Bush fella boy stop 'm long way too much."

So it was that the launch went ashore, and, while its crew lolled in the
shade of the beach coconuts, Villa, Harley, and Jerry followed the river
inland a quarter of a mile to the first likely pool.

"One can never be too sure," Harley said, taking his automatic pistol
from its holster and placin