“He had killed a sheep!” cried Squib under his breath. “Oh, what a wicked dog!”
“Yes, he had killed a sheep; but he was able to do worse than that. For the girl had been so astonished to see the creature’s cleverness in getting in and fastening up the window, that she was sitting up in bed to watch him, when he turned round and saw her. It seemed then as if he were clever enough to know himself found out, for suddenly his eyes grew fierce and red, and he made a roaring noise like that of a wild beast. The girl sprang from her bed, and had just time to reach the door before he made his spring; she knew that had she been a moment later he would have flown at her throat. She saw by his eyes, and heard in that horrid roaring noise he made, that he would have flown at her and killed her had she not been able to escape.”
“Oh, what a dreadful dog!” cried Squib, his eyes fixed upon the face of the narrator with the gaze of fascination. “What did the farmer do with him then?”
“Of course he was shot in the morning, and no sheep were killed after that. It had been this clever dog that had done it all the time, just as the shepherd believed.”
“Oh, sir, I am glad Czar is not fierce like that. Do you think that is a true story?”
“It was told me as true,” answered the stranger, “and I have heard other stories of hounds that have been known to be terribly fierce and savage when their jealousy has been aroused. And I can quite believe that if a dog once took to killing and eating sheep, the wild beast in him would get the upper hand very quickly, and he would soon be quite unsafe.”
“I suppose that’s what father feels about Czar. I’ve heard him say that if he ever did bite anybody he would have to be shot. That’s why I try so hard to make him kind and good to people. I should be so sorry if he got fierce, he’s such a nice dog to have with one in a lonely place. I think a dog is great company. But Czar doesn’t like my island, it’s too small and slippery for him. Would you like to see my island, sir? It’s such a nice place. Shall I help you across to it? The stones are rather slippery, but there are not many of them.”
Squib received a friendly smile and nod in reply, and found that the stranger was quite able to make his way over the stepping-stones without assistance. The little boy showed all the wonders and beauties of his mimic kingdom with great pride: the little delicate flowers shooting up from the crevices filled with earth, the willow tree growing out of the solid stone, as it appeared, and the beautiful green moss which clothed the sides of the boulder. The traveller was such a nice person to show things to and to tell things to! He was interested in everything, and had a hundred wonderful things to say about the island—things which Squib himself had hardly observed, and which had never struck him as they did now. Very soon Squib found that it was he who was listening and his new friend who was talking, telling him about the wonderful way in which the rocks were made, what sand was, what chalk was, how the world had come to be the wonderful and beautiful place it was. Squib listened as he listened to Lisa’s tales of fairies and goblins, and found it just as interesting. No matter whether they spoke of rocks or flowers or trees, or the rushing, tumbling water, there was always something wonderful to be learned, and presently Squib drew a long breath and said,—