"Do you mean--?" his master thundered, and he stretched his hand for a
club.

"I heard that," said the servant humbly.

"Take that dog up," Fergus commanded, "and hug it and kiss it, and if I
find a single shiver left in the beast I'll break your head."

The man bent to the hound, but it snapped a piece out of his hand, and
nearly bit his nose off as well.

"That dog doesn't like me," said the man.

"Nor do I," roared Fergus; "get out of my sight."

The man went away and Fergus was left alone with the hound, but the poor
creature was so terrified that it began to tremble ten times worse than
before.

"Its legs will drop off," said Fergus. "Fionn will blame me," he cried
in despair.

He walked to the hound.

"If you snap at my nose, or if you put as much as the start of a tooth
into the beginning of a finger!" he growled.

He picked up the dog, but it did not snap, it only trembled. He held it
gingerly for a few moments.

"If it has to be hugged," he said, "I'll hug it. I'd do more than that
for Fionn."

He tucked and tightened the animal into his breast, and marched moodily
up and down the room. The dog's nose lay along his breast under his
chin, and as he gave it dutiful hugs, one hug to every five paces, the
dog put out its tongue and licked him timidly under the chin.

"Stop," roared Fergus, "stop that forever," and he grew very red in
the face, and stared truculently down along his nose. A soft brown eye
looked up at him and the shy tongue touched again on his chin.

"If it has to be kissed," said Fergus gloomily, "I'll kiss it; I'd do
more than that for Fionn," he groaned.

He bent his head, shut his eyes, and brought the dog's jaw against his
lips. And at that the dog gave little wriggles in his arms, and little
barks, and little licks, so that he could scarcely hold her. He put the
hound down at last.

"There is not a single shiver left in her," he said.

And that was true.

Everywhere he walked the dog followed him, giving little prances and
little pats against him, and keeping her eyes fixed on his with such
eagerness and intelligence that he marvelled.

"That dog likes me," he murmured in amazement.

"By my hand," he cried next day, "I like that dog."

The day after that he was calling her "My One Treasure, My Little
Branch." And within a week he could not bear her to be out of his sight
for an instant.

He was tormented by the idea that some evil person might throw a stone
at