odified their ideas about valour, they all retreated into a safe
corner of the yard, the farthest from the bear, where they contented
themselves with angry protests, making short runs at the enemy and quick
retreats, making a very sorry pretence of war.

"Oh, those cowardly curs! the miserable little brutes!" cried the
valorous occupants in the gallery.

And the much wiser and discreeter dogs looked up in answer, and seemed to
say--

"Go yourselves!"

Still the bear was standing well on the defensive when, to the general
astonishment, Heinrich reappeared, holding his Danish hound by the chain.

I have since been informed that he had wagered fifty florins with Joseph
Kilian, the gamekeeper, that the boar-hound would renew the attack. He
advanced slowly, patting the dog with his hand, and saying persuasively--

"Good dog, Blitz! good dog!"

And the noble animal, in spite of his bleeding wounds, rushed in; then
the whole pack of mongrels, curs, puppies, lurchers, and turnspits ran in
too in a long string, till poor Baptiste was covered with the vile rabble
rout; he did what he could, he rolled over and over as far as his chain
would let him, growling and grunting, crushing one, sending another away
with a bite, struggling furiously. The brave Dane still showed the
greatest intrepidity; he had caught the bear between the ears, and rolled
over with him, his fore-legs in the air, whilst the rest were biting,
some his legs, and some his torn and bleeding ears. There seemed no end
to this plague of dogs.

"Enough! enough!" was the cry in every direction.

Yet still some were not satisfied, and kept crying on the dogs.

Heinrich at that moment darted across the yard like a flash of lightning;
he seized his clog by the ear, and pulling it away with all his strength,
cried--

"Blitz, Blitz, let go!"

But this was of no use. At last the man succeeded in making him loose his
hold by a tremendous cut with his whip across his body, and, dragging the
animal away, they both disappeared under the archway.

The mongrels had not waited for this event to give up the battle; four or
five only still hung upon Bruin's side; the rest, scared, limping,
yelping, were trying to find a way out. Suddenly one of those heroes, a
cur belonging to Rasimus, caught sight of the kitchen window, and, fired
by a noble enthusiasm for his safety, he crashed through glass and all.
All the rest of the yelling crew, struck by the ingenuity of this