in the principle of the survival of the fittest;
and he did all one dog could do to carry it into practice. His efforts
eventually brought it down to a question between himself and a big
long-haired dog in the next street. I think of this with regret,
because it was the occasion of my one real slip. The dog led me into
temptation.

If it only had not been Sunday, and church time, when the issue became
urgent, and the long-haired one accepted our invitation for a walk in
the deep woods! In this saddening reflection I was partly comforted,
while taking the by-paths for home afterward,--with Mac limping along
on three legs, and minus one ear,--by the knowledge that our view of
the case had prevailed. The long-haired one troubled us no more
thereafter.

Mac had his strong points, but he had also his failings. One of these
was a weakness for stale beer. I suppose he had been brought up on it
in the dog pit. The pure air of Long Island, and the usual environment
of his new home, did not wean him from it. He had not been long in our
house before he took to absenting himself for days and nights at a
time, returning ragged and fagged out, as if from a long spree. We
found out, by accident, that he spent those vacations in a low saloon
a mile up the plank road, which he had probably located on one of his
excursions through the country to extend his doctrine of evolution. It
was the conductor on the horse-car that ran past the saloon who told
me of it. Mac had found the cars out, too, and rode regularly up and
down to the place, surveying the country from the rear platform. The
conductor prudently refrained from making any remarks after Mac had
once afforded him a look at his jaw. I am sorry to say that I think
Mac got drunk on those trips. I judged, from remarks I overheard once
or twice about the "deacon's drunken dog," that the community shared
my conviction. It was always quick to jump at conclusions,
particularly about deacons.

Sober second thought should have acquitted me of all the allegations
against me, except the one matter of the Sunday discussion in the
woods, which, however, I had forgotten to mention. But sober second
thought, that ought always and specially to attach itself to the
deaconry, was apparently at a premium in our town. I had begun to tire
of the constant explanations that were required, when the climax came
in a manner wholly unforeseen and unexpected. The cashier in the
office had run away, or was