eyes she flashed a signal at the two troubled men and they followed her lead. Their center of vision was now upon the fire. It left Joan, to all appearances, quite out of notice.
“Oh, that'll be a long, long time, munner.”
“Only a little while, Joan.”
“But Daddy Dan'll be lonesome up there.”
“He has Satan and Bart to keep him company.”
“Don't you think he wants Joan, munner?”
“Not as much as the poor little puppy wants you, Joan.”
She added, with just the slightest tremor: “You decide for yourself, Joan. Go if you think it is best.”
“Bart, what'll Joan do?” queried the child, turning in dismay toward the wolf-dog, but as soon as he saw the puppy in her arms, he greeted her with a murderous snarl.
“You see,” suggested her mother, “that Black Bart would eat up the poor little puppy if you went now with him.”
At this alarming thought, Joan shrank away from Bart and when he followed her, anxiously, she cried: “Go away! Bad dog! Bad Bart!”
He caught the edge of her dress and drew back toward the door, and this threw Joan into a sudden panic. She struck Bart across his wrinkled forehead.
“Go away!” he slunk back, snarling at the puppy.
“Go back to Daddy Dan.” Then, as he pricked his ears, still growling like distant thunder: “Go tell
