of the family so far, he really
could not afford to keep Finn's sister; but, however that might be,
he kept her for the present, and now that there were but two of the
youngsters, they began to live more after the fashion of grown
hounds. As autumn advanced the pair were gradually given more and
more in the way of grown-up privileges. They learned to come into
the den with Tara, and to behave themselves with discretion when
there. They never saw such a thing as a whip, but the Master spoke
to them with all the sharp emphasis of a growl when original canine
sin tempted them to the chewing of newspapers, or attempting to
tear rugs. Also, they learned very much from Tara in the matter of
the deportment and dignity which becomes a Wolfhound. In the latter
part of November their meals were reduced in number from four to
three a day, and they were presented with green leather collars
with the Master's name engraved in brass thereon. These were for
outdoor wear only, outside the doors of the home premises that is,
and with them came lessons in leading which required a good deal of
patience on the part of the Mistress of the Kennels, for, after the
first two lessons, which were given by the Master, much of teaching
work fell to her.

Early in the morning, as a general thing, the Master took Tara and
the two youngsters out on the Downs, and these were altogether
delightful experiences for Finn and his sister. It was on one of
these occasions, and just after entering his sixth month, that Finn
tasted the joy and pride of his first kill. He had started with
Tara after a rabbit which had scurried out from behind a little
hillock no more than ten distant paces. The rabbit wheeled at a
tangent from under Tara's nose, and, as it headed down the slope,
was bound to cross Finn's course. The grey whelp's heart swelled
within him; his jaws dripped hot desire as he galloped. The fateful
moment came, and the whelp seized his prey precisely as Tara would
have seized it, a little behind the shoulders. It was bad for the
rabbit, because Finn was neither practised nor powerful enough to
kill instantaneously as his mother would have done. But his
vehemence in shaking was such that before Tara reached his side the
quarry was dead. Tara sniffed at the dead rabbit with the air of an
official inspector of such matters, and then sat up on her haunches
to indicate that she had no wish to interfere with her son's prize.
As for Finn, he was uncertai