“Don’t sit down, sir!” cried Johannes. “It’s too cold for that. Out of breath?”
“Yes—quite!” panted Steve. “My word! what a run!”
“Feel cold, sir?”
“Who’s to feel cold,” puffed Steve, “after running miles like that? I’m getting hot.”
“Then now let’s walk, so that you don’t cool down too fast.”
“Why, here’s old Skeny!” cried Steve, patting the dog’s rough head. “I didn’t see him.”
“He has been trotting round just behind us all the time, sir,” said Johannes, bending down in turn to pat the dog, who ruffled up his great thick frill and uttered a low growl.
“Ah!” cried Steve. “Quiet! Don’t you know your friends yet, sir?”
The dog growled again; and this time apparently at his master.
“Ah! would you?” cried Steve; and the dog wagged his tail, making it flap up against the Norseman’s leg; but he growled again.