Outside the old castle they were saluted by a trio of yelps and barks, the three dogs, after bounding about their master, smelling Max’s legs suspiciously, Sneeshing, of the short and crooked legs, pretending that he had never seen a pair of trousers before, and taking hold of the material to test its quality, to Max’s horror and dismay.

“Oh, he won’t bite!” cried Kenneth; “it’s only his way.”

“But even a scratch from a dog’s tooth might produce hydrophobia,” said Max nervously.

“Not with Scotch dogs,” said Kenneth, laughing. “Here, Sneeshing, you wouldn’t give anybody hydro-what-you-may-call-it, would you, old man, eh?”

He seized the rough little terrier as he spoke, and turned him over on his back, caught him by the throat and shook him, the dog retaliating by growling, snarli. . . Read More