d that he
would not plague himself with any more thoughts of Stephen and Nan. If
they were drowned, it was none of his doing; and, as for Stephen's anger
yesterday, there was nothing new in that; Stephen was angry every day of
his life. He would not be scared out of his sleep any more by nonsense.
He would not give up having his own way to see Stephen and Nan under
these very trees; and, as he had got his own way at last, he would enjoy
it.

This mood went on till there was such a heap of dead animals, that Roger
began to think whether he could skin them all, and clean their skins, in
such hot weather as this, before they were unfit for any use. As for
eating them, here was twenty times as much food as could be eaten while
it was good. He did just remember the children and Ailwin, and how much
they probably wanted food; but he settled that it was no business of
his; and he was not going to trouble himself to leave his island for
anybody. He would call in Spy, and tie him up; for there must be no
more game killed to-day.

Spy did not come for any calling,--for anything short of the well-known
whistle, as Roger would not utter the name of Bishop. Roger grew very
angry at being obeyed no better than this; and his last whistle was so
shrill that the dog seemed to know what it threatened, refused to answer
it as long as he dared, and then came unwillingly, with fear in every
attitude. He gave a low whine when he saw his master; as he had good
reason to do. Roger tied him to a tree, and then gave loose to his
passion. He thrashed the dog with a switch till the poor creature's
whine was heard and pitied by the children and Ailwin on their
house-top; and there is no knowing how long the whipping might not have
gone on, if the animal had not at last turned furious, and snapped at
Roger in a way which made him think of giving over, and finding
something else to do with his sovereignty.

He found it was rather dull work, so far, having all his own way, in an
island of his own. At last, he bethought himself of an amusement he had
been fond of before he lived so much in the moors and the carrs. He
bethought himself of bird's-nesting. It was too late for eggs; but he
thought the bird-families might not have all dispersed. Here were
plenty of trees, and they must be full of birds; for, though they were
silent to-day (he did wish the place was not quite so silent!) they
sometimes sent their warblings so far over the car