"You Yankee liar!" Champ yelled at him, then he ran like a fox for my infuriated young master was throwing clods of earth after him.
I guessed that the quarrel was Canada versus my own country and I pressed close to my master. We would have to stand together.
He picked up his hoe and put it over his shoulder. Then he sprang on my back and I trotted up the road.
Alas! Where were his dreams of keeping the two countries together?
"Prince Fetlar," he said as we jogged along, "I hate that Champ."
I playfully turned my head and made a nip at his muddy shoe.
"You're the best friend I have," he said affectionately. "You never pitch into me—I'd like to kill Champ."
Then he gave a cry and leaped to the road. The unfortunate Champ was sitting on the grass his face pale as death.
Their quarrel forgotten Dallas took him by the shoulder and shook him. "Open your eyes! What's the matter?"