nd forced a
bewildered cry from him which was part bark, part howl, part growl,
and part scream of pain. It planted fear and horror in a single
instant in a creature who had lived in the world for fifteen months
with no consciousness of either. The filth of his prison was
forgotten in this new anguish of pain, and fear, and humiliation,
compared with which the kicks and stranglings of the early part of
the night were as nothing at all. In a few seconds of time the
proudest of princes in the dog world was reduced to a shuddering,
cringing object, cowering in one corner of a filthy cupboard.

Matey was not only furiously angry, he was also a good deal afraid;
and that added cruelty to his anger. He had heard a number of
bedroom windows raised as he crossed the walled-in yard; he wanted
no enquiries about the source and reason of the weird, syren-like
howls that had brought him out in his shirt and trousers. It was
his business to see that there were no more howls; and the only
means that occurred to his brutal mind were those he now proceeded
to put into operation. He closed the door of the den behind him,
and he rained down blows upon Finn's shrinking body till his arm
ached, and the dog's cries subsided into a low, continuous whimper,
the very paralysis of shame, anguish, fear, and distress. Then,
when his arm was thoroughly tired, he flung the stick viciously
into Finn's face, went out, and locked the door.

Matey certainly could not be called a clever dog stealer, because
he had no notion of how to preserve that which he stole. Putting
aside their brutality, his methods were incredibly stupid; but
when, five minutes later, he lay listening in his bed, the only
reflection that his stupid mind brought him was that he had
succeeded admirably. No further sound came from the walled-in yard;
and it appeared that there was to be no further risk of neighbours
being disturbed by howls from Finn. Matey was too far away to hear
anything of the low, tremulous, nasal whimpering which trickled out
into the night through the holes in the door of Finn's prison; and,
in any case, there was no fear of that small sound disturbing any
one. So, after his own fashion--which one really hesitates to call
brutal, because brutes rarely, and probably never, indulge in
pointless, unnecessary ferocity--Matey had been successful.

But if Matey had had sense enough to be called a clever dog-stealer,
he would have recognised that, despite his hu