n; for the tall boy raised his gun. There was a jet of
smoke, a sharp, clean crack, and the funeral dog started on the right
way at last toward his dead master. Another crack, and the yellow cur
leaped from the ground and fell kicking. Another crack and another, and
with each crack a dog tumbled, until little Satan sat on his haunches
amid the writhing pack, alone. His time was now come. As the rifle was
raised, he heard up at the big house the cries of children; the popping
of fire-crackers; tooting of horns and whistles and loud shouts of
"Christmas Gif', Christmas Gif'!" His little heart beat furiously.
Perhaps he knew just what he was doing; perhaps it was the accident of
habit; most likely Satan simply wanted to go home--but when that gun
rose, Satan rose too, on his haunches, his tongue out, his black eyes
steady and his funny little paws hanging loosely--and begged! The boy
lowered the gun.

"Down, sir!" Satan dropped obediently, but when the gun was lifted
again, Satan rose again, and again he begged.

"Down, I tell you!" This time Satan would not down, but sat begging for
his life. The boy turned.

"Papa, I can't shoot that dog." Perhaps Satan had reached the stern old
overseer's heart. Perhaps he remembered suddenly that it was Christmas.
At any rate, he said gruffly:

"Well, let him go."

"Come here, sir!" Satan bounded toward the tall boy, frisking and
trustful and begged again.

"Go home, sir!"

Satan needed no second command. Without a sound he fled out the
barn-yard, and, as he swept under the front gate, a little girl ran out
of the front door of the big house and dashed down the steps, shrieking:

"Saty! Saty! Oh, Saty!" But Satan never heard. On he fled, across the
crisp fields, leaped the fence and struck the road, lickety-split! for
home, while Dinnie dropped sobbing in the snow.

"Hitch up a horse, quick," said Uncle Carey, rushing after Dinnie and
taking her up in his arms. Ten minutes later, Uncle Carey and Dinnie,
both warmly bundled up, were after flying Satan. They never caught him
until they reached the hill on the outskirts of town, where was the
kennel of the kind-hearted people who were giving painless death to
Satan's four-footed kind, and where they saw him stop and turn from the
road. There was divine providence in Satan's flight for one little dog
that Christmas morning; for Uncle Carey saw the old drunkard staggering
down the road without his little companion, and a moment l