I just gave him a little curved one to stop his nonsense, and he drew back panting.
"Go to bed, handsome Prince Fetlar," said Girlie coaxingly. "Guardie isn't well. There was too much fat in his soup to-night. He has a delicate stomach."
"His stomach's all right," I said. "So are his legs. It's his temper that's sick," and I kept a wary eye on the hysterical collie, who was making a mad leap in the air at me.
Of course he didn't get me, but fell fair on Sir Vet's back. The old boar started to give him a dressing-down, and Lady Annabella came to help him. Girlie pitched in to assist her mate, and we were having a fine mix-up, when a cold shadow stepped in between us.
The good old Highlander was walking again, and had sent his pet wolf cub to recall us to ourselves, and to remind us that fighting is not the chief end of life.
I stopped, just as I was about to give Guardie's hind leg a sly nip. An icy muzzle was touching my own. I shrank back from the wolf cub, and saw the Highlander standing in the moonlight by the doorway and smiling at us.
We had all been naughty—dogs, pigs and pony—and the human being was rebuking us. We all slunk slowly away to bed, our tails between our legs.
The wolf cub followed his master. He was a noble looking animal now.
"Can it be that beyond this life even wolves are made over?" I heard Girlie whisper as I left.
As I paced slowly to my stall I heard a great horned owl cry solemnly from the ridge-pole of the carriage house, "Whoo, hoo, hoo, the old man walks often lately. A good heart never dies. A kind body cannot lie still, hoo—hoo,—Lady Moon, I love you.