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 eye was bright and keen—there was not a shade of surrender about her.

Joe rushed in at once and struck the old man full between the eyes with a heavy stick. He fell prone, and lay like a log. Violet staggered to his throat, which she seized, but, having not another grain of strength, fell alongside of him, panting and sobbing until her whole frame shook convulsed. I never saw a dog suffer so much from over-exertion. There was water near, and we carried her to it and bathed her head and neck. She had three terrible gashes, the blood from which we could not manage to stanch. Joe was genuinely affected. The tears came into his eyes as he looked on the suffering creature. "Poor little slut!" he said; "I'm doubtful it's her last hunt. Pity we hadn't took the horses, we should ha' bin up sooner, and saved that old savage from 'mercy-creeing' of her. Anyhow, I'll carry her home and see what the missis can do for her."

He did so. I walking sadly behind, the dumb brute looking up at him with grateful eyes, and from time to time licking his hand. She was nursed by Mrs. Burge like a child. We tried all our simple remedies, sewed up the gaping wounds, and even went to the length of a tonic, suited to her condition. But it was of no use. The loss of blood and consequent exhaustion had been too great. Violet died that night, and for the next few days a gloom fell over our little household as at the death of a friend.

A curious spot, in some respects, was that which I had pitched on—full of interest and variety. The