Bart again.

"Giddap!" she cried.

The wolf-dog shuddered but would not budge an inch.

"Naughty Bart!" She slipped off to the floor. "I'll make him come," she
said.

"If it's the same to you," said Vic, rather hastily, "I'd just as soon
he stayed where he is."

"He's got to do what I want," she answered. She shook a tiny forefinger
at him. "Bart, you just come here!"

The dog turned his blazing eyes on her and replied with a growl that
shook his sides.

"Stop!" she ordered, and struck him sharply on the nose. He blinked and
lowered his head under the blow, but though the snarling stopped his
teeth flashed. She caught him by both jowls and tugged him forward.

"Let him be!" urged Vic.

"He's got to come!"

And come he did, step by halting step, while she hauled him, and now
the snarling hoarse intakes of breath filled the room. Once she moved
a little to one side and Vic caught the glint of two eyes, red-stained,
which were fixed undeviatingly upon her face. Mixed with Vic's alarm
at the great fighting beast was a peculiar uneasiness, for there was
something uncanny in the determination, the fearlessness of this infant.
When she stepped away the wolf-dog stood trembling visibly but his eyes
were still not upon the man he hated or feared to approach but upon the
child's face.

"Can you pat him now?" she asked, not for an instant turning to Gregg.

"No, but it's close enough," he assured her. "I don't want him any
closer."

"He's got to come." She stamped. "Bart, you come here!"

He flinched forward, an inch. "Bart!" Her hands were clenched and her
little body quivered with resolution; the snake-like head came to the
very edge of the bed.

"Now pat him!" she commanded.

By very unpleasant degrees, Vic stretched his hand towards that growling
menace.

"He'll take my arm off," he complained. Shame kept him from utterly
refusing the risk.

"He won't bite you one bit," declared the child. "But I'll hold his nose
if you're afraid." And instantly she clasped the pointed muzzle between
her hands.

Even when Vic's hand hovered above his head Bart had no eye for him,
could not divert his gaze from the face of the child. Once, twice
and again, delicately as one might handle bubbles, Gregg touched that
scarred forehead.

"I made him come, didn't I?" she cried in triumph, and turned a tense
little face towards Vic, but the instant her eyes moved the wolf-dog
leaped away half the width of the room, and st