"You see," added the boatman, "the dog is only doing his duty. His job is to protect my property. He looks out for it when I'm away."
She observed that the boatman was staring intently, not at her eyes—where it is customary to look at a person—but at her ankles, where it is not always polite to stare. She knew they were conspicuous, but she also realized the futility of flinching. Sitting on a limb, there was absolutely no way to make her skirt cover them.
"This—this is an outrage!" she stormed.
"Why, perhaps—ma'am. But whose fault?"
"The beast—he—chased me!"
"I told him to."
"You told him to?"
"That is, I told him to chase anybody. I hardly expected he'd tree you. Did I, old sport?"
The dog relaxed his vigil long enough to turn his head, wag his tail furiously, and give throat to a joyous bark.
"You see, this is where I live," added Sam with a nod at the cabin. "He's in charge when I'm not here."