y addressed
him as Scally. The children in the village called him the Scalawag.

His time during his first year in our household was fully occupied in
growing up. Stella declared that if one could have persuaded him to
stand still for five minutes it would have been actually possible to
see him grow. He grew at the rate of about an inch a week for the best
part of a year. When he had finished he looked like nothing on earth. At
one time we cherished a brief but illusory hope that he was going to
turn into some sort of an imitation of a St. Bernard; but the symptoms
rapidly passed off, and his final and permanent aspect was that of a
rather badly stuffed lion.

Like most overgrown creatures he was top-heavy and lethargic and very
humble-minded. Still, there was a kind of respectful pertinacity about
him. It requires some strength of character, for instance, to wade along
the bottom of a pond to dry land, accompanied by a brick as big as
yourself. It was quite impossible, too, short of locking him up, to
prevent him from accompanying us when we took our walks abroad, if he
had made up his mind to do so.

The first time this happened I was going to shoot with my neighbors, the
Hoods. It was only a mile to the first covert and I set off after
breakfast to walk. I was hardly out on the road when Excalibur was
beside me, ambling uncertainly on his weedy legs and smiling up into my
face with an air of imbecile affection.

"You have many qualities, old friend," I said, "but I don't think you
are a sporting dog. Go home!"

Excalibur sat down on the road with a dejected air. Then, having given
me fifty yards start, he rose and crawled sheepishly after me. I
stopped, called him up, pointed him with some difficulty in the
required direction, gave him a resounding spank and bade him begone. He
responded by collapsing like a camp bedstead, and I left him.

Two minutes later I looked round. Excalibur was ten yards behind me,
propelling himself along on his stomach. This time I thrashed him
severely. After he began to howl I let him go, and he lumbered away
homeward, the picture of misery.

In due course I reached the crossroads where I had arranged to meet the
rest of the party. They had not arrived, but Excalibur had. He had made
a detour and headed me off. Not certain which route I would take after
reaching the crossroads, he was sitting very sensibly under the
signpost, awaiting my arrival. On seeing me he immediately came