h all four feet in the air. Before he could rise again,
the man had planted two ferocious kicks on his ribs; and Finn was
thankful then to draw a free breath by moving towards his
persecutor, so as to slacken the pressure on the lead. But, the
moment he had drawn breath, the desire to escape possessed him once
more, and he repeated his leap for freedom. This time the man was
prepared, and, in addition to the pressure brought about by Finn's
reaching the end of his tether, there was the savage extra pressure
of a quick backward jerk at the lead, to bring the hound on his
back a second time. This time the man kicked him very severely,
and, in addition, smote him violently on the nose with clenched
fist, as he staggered to his feet, gasping for breath.

Just then the dim, smoky lights of a cart appeared at the bend in
the road, twenty yards away, in the direction of the village.

"That you, Bill?" cried the man who held Finn, and an affirmative
answer reached him from the cart. "Come on, then, and let's get
this stubborn beast into the cart." He gave a savage jerk at Finn's
slip-collar as he spoke, and once more his nailed boot crashed
against the bewildered Wolfhound's ribs. The man had an itch of
anger and brutality upon him by this time. Finn leaped sideways
with a quick gasp as the man's boot struck him and the cruel collar
tightened; and at this sharp movement of his great body, there in
the middle of the road, the pony shied violently, just as it was
being drawn in to a standstill; the cart swerved sharply into the
hedge, and a cracking sound betrayed the breaking of a shaft.

This was the finishing touch required to round off the naturally
vicious temper of the man who held Finn into a passion of sullen,
brutal anger. He cursed unceasingly while the man in the cart made
the necessary repairs with cord and a couple of sticks from the
hedge; and with every curse there was a kick, or a vicious blow, or
a savage jerk at the torturing slip-collar, and sometimes all three
together. Finn could have killed the man with ease; but, so far,
the thought of even biting him never occurred to the Wolfhound.
Every hour that he had spent in the world had taught him that
humans were his friends, his very kindly protectors, his guardians
and governors, so to say. Every hour of his mother's life, with but
very few exceptions, had borne the same belief in upon her, and her
nature was the sweetest and gentlest imaginable. With his fat