her,
now, the case was somewhat otherwise. There were those who said
that the rather taciturn and shy Dermot owed some of his
wonderfully heavy coat to the mesalliance of a forbear of his with
a Tibetan Sheep Dog of a half-wild sort, with a temper far from
reliable. But, as yet at all events, Finn's temper was that of a
clean run, well-bred English boy; frank, open, trusting, and
kindly; and, sorely as he ached, sorely bewildered as he felt under
the rain of blows and kicks, curses and strangling tugs at his
collar, he had as yet no thought of vengeance. His only desire was
for escape, and a return to the sweet, free life he knew beside the
Downs.

The man who held Finn instinctively recognised all this, and the
knowledge whetted the savagery of his temper, and withdrew all
restraint from its cruel indulgence. He had no conscious wish to
injure the hound; quite the contrary, since Finn represented money
to him, and money was what he desired more than anything else; but
he was tired, things seemed to be going ill with him, his temper
was thoroughly roused, and the innocent cause of all this, a
sensitive, living creature, was tethered and helpless beside him;
and so he kicked and cursed, and jerked at the lead, and found
relief in Finn's gasps of pain and want of breath.

When the shaft was mended, the tail-board of the little cart was
let down, and, with a savage kick at Finn's hind-quarters, the man
bade him "Get up, there, ---- ye! Get up, ye brute!" Another kick.
Poor Finn tried to squirm forward under the cart to escape the
heavy boot of his persecutor. Then he was furiously jerked backward
and half throttled.

"Steady with 'im, matey," said the other man. "Don't knock the
dollars off of 'im."

"Who asked you to shove your jaw in?" snarled the first man. "You
didn't get the brute, did ye--curse him!"

Another kick.

The other man was used to his friend's temper, and said nothing;
but he hated to see a valuable animal knocked about, just as he
would have hated to see money thrown in the gutter instead of into
a publican's till; so he stooped down and lifted Finn's fore-feet
from the ground, and placed them on the floor of the cart.

"My oath!" he said, "but 'e's a tidy weight, ain't he? Up ye go, my
bully boy!" And up Finn went, on the spur of another violent kick,
which broke the skin across one of his hocks. The lead was now
fastened close down to a staple in the floor of the cart, Finn
being forced down