ed tongue hanging out, his tail beating the ground. One
of the boys was his master, it was plain at a glance, and, as a natural
consequence, the dog had felt it his duty to assist to the full extent
of his powers. But the other boy was the first to speak.

"Why could na he let me a-be then?" he asked irately. "I was na doin'
owt t' him."

"Yea, tha was," retorted his opponent, a sturdy, ragged, ten-year-old.

"Nay, I was na."

"Yea, tha was."

"Well," said Anice, "what _was_ he doing?"

"Aye," cried the first youngster, "tha tell her if tha con. Who hit th'
first punse?" excitedly doubling his fist again. "I didna."

"Nay, tha didna, but tha did summat else. Tha punsed at Nib wi' thy
clog, an' hit him aside o' th' yed, an' then I punsed thee, an' I'd do
it agen fur--"

"Wait a minute," said Anice, holding up her little gloved hand. "Who is
Nib?"

"Nib's my dog," surlily. "An' them as punses him, has getten to punse
me."

Anice bent down and patted the small animal.

"He seems a very nice dog," she said. "What did you kick him for?"

Nib's master was somewhat mollified. A person who could appreciate the
virtues of "th' best tarrier i' Riggan," could not be regarded wholly
with contempt, or even indifference.

"He kicked him fur nowt," he answered. "He's allus at uther him or me.
He bust my kite, an' he cribbed my marvels, didn't he?" appealing to the
by-standers.

"Aye, he did. I seed him crib th' marvels my-sen. He wur mad 'cos Jud
wur winnen, and then he kicked Nib."

Jud bent down to pat Nib himself, not without a touch of pride in his
manifold injuries, and the readiness with which they were attested.

"Aye," he said, "an' I did na set on him at first neyther. I nivver set
on him till he punsed Nib. He may bust my kite, an' steal my marvels,
an' he may ca' me ill names, but he shanna kick Nib. So theer!"

It was evident that Nib's enemy was the transgressor. He was grievously
in the minority. Nobody seemed to side with him, and everybody seemed
ready--when once the tongues were loosed--to say a word for Jud and
"th' best tarrier i'Riggan." For a few minutes Anice could scarcely make
herself heard.

"You are a good boy to take care of your dog," she said to Jud--"and
though fighting is not a good thing, perhaps if I had been a boy,"
gravely deciding against moral suasion in one rapid glance at the
enemy--"perhaps if I had been a boy, I would have fought myself. _You_
are a coward," she added, w