edly down at the rock until an impatient whinny called up his eyes. Then he pretended the most absolute surprise.
“Why, Satan, you old scoundrel, what are you doin' over there? Get back where you belong?”
He gestured with a thumb over his shoulder and Satan glided around the rock and stood once more behind Dan.
“Manners?” continued Dan. “You ain't got 'em. You'll be tryin' to sit down at the table with me, pretty soon.” He concluded: “But I'll teach you one of these days, and you'll smart for a week.”
Even at the mock menace Joan trembled a little, but to her astonishment Satan paid not the slightest heed. Dan sat with his hat on his head—which was a new and delightful event at the table—and now the stallion took the hat by the crown, dexterously, and raised it just an inch and put it back in place. Black Bart, having crept out of the shadows sat down near Joan with his long red tongue lolling out. This procedure called a growl from him, but the master continued eating without the slightest interest, apparently, in Satan's insolence.
A velvety muzzle appeared, with the chin resting on the shoulder of Dan and the great, luminous eyes above. He whinnied so softly that it was not more than a human whisper, and meant almost as much.
“Oh,” said Dan, in all seeming just roused to attention, “hungry, old boy?”
He raised the morsel of “pone” between thumb and
