ine"_
TOG THAWED INTO LIMP AND SERVILE AMIABILITY.]

"Hi, Tog!" Jimmie complained. "Bide still!"

Tog slipped from Jimmie's grasp and bounded off. He turned with a
snarl.

"Here, Tog!" cried Jimmie.

Tog came--stepping warily over the snow. His head was low, his
king-hairs bristling, his upper lip lifted.

"Ha, Tog, b'y!" said Jimmie, ingratiatingly.

Tog thawed into limp and servile amiability. The long, wiry white hair
of his neck fell flat; he wagged his bushy white tail; he pawed the
snow and playfully tossed his long, pointed nose as he crept near. But
had Jimmie Grimm been more observant, more knowing, he would have
perceived that the light in the lanky pup's eyes had not mellowed.

"Good dog!" crooned Jimmie, stretching out an affectionate hand.

Vanished, then, in a flash, every symptom of Tog's righteousness. His
long teeth closed on Jimmie's small hand with a snap. Jimmie struck
instantly--and struck hard. The butt of the whip caught Tog on the
nose. He dropped the hand and leaped away with a yelp.

"Now, me b'y," thought Jimmie Grimm, staring into the quivering dog's
eyes, not daring to glance at his own dripping hand, "I'll master
_you_!"

But it was no longer a question of mastery. The issue was life or
death. Tog was now of an age to conceive murder. Moreover, he was of a
size to justify an attempt upon Jimmie. And murder was in his heart.
He crouched, quivering, his wolfish eyes fixed upon the boy's blazing
blue ones. For a moment neither antagonist ventured attack. Both
waited.

It was Jimmie who lost patience. He swung his long dog whip. The lash
cracked in Tog's face. With a low growl, the dog rushed, and before
the boy could evade the attack, the dog had him by the leg. Down came
the butt of the whip. Tog released his hold and leaped out of reach.
He pawed about, snarling, shaking his bruised head.

This advantage the boy sought to pursue. He advanced--alert, cool,
ready to strike. Tog retreated. Jimmie rushed upon him. At a bound,
Tog passed, turned, and came again. Before Jimmie had well faced him,
Tog had leaped for his throat. Down went the boy, overborne by the
dog's weight, and by the impact, which he was not prepared to
withstand. But Tog was yet a puppy, unpracticed in fight; he had
missed the grip. And a heavy stick, in the hands of Jimmie's father,
falling mercilessly upon him, put him in yelping retreat.

"I 'low, Jimmie," drawled Jim Grimm, while he helped the boy to his