contemptuously kicked a few scraps of turf over his victim. Then he trotted home to the farm-yard, crept into his kennel, and settled himself to sleep.
It was not out of love for his master, by any means, that Bran was so careful to guard that master's property. It was simply a fundamental article of the code which he inherited from the Newfoundland and collie side of his ancestry. Ben Parsons, the big, red-faced, hard-eyed farmer, was his master. To Ben Parsons he owed his food, his shelter and therefore his loyal service. That was enough for Bran.
There was no question of love, or even of the most temperate liking. Ben Parsons was not one to inspire, or to desire, anything approaching affection in man or beast. All the stock on his farm feared and distrusted him, in spite of the fact that they were in the main well treated. He had too clear an understanding of his own interests not to know that good treatment secured him good value. From his hired help he got fair service, for which he gave fair pay in wage and keep, and so he prospered; but no one ever stayed long in his employ.
From Bran he got obedience, but no servility. To him the great inscrutable-eyed, huge-eating
