"I like those hours for the country," said Dallas.
As he spoke a last sob broke his voice. "Captain," he called out, "will you tell your kids that I ran from the wolf?"
"Certainly not," said Mr. Devering in tones of surprise. "Aren't we pals?"
Dallas winced terribly at this. "I'm going to tell them myself," he said; "I've got to rub it in or maybe I'll do it again. My father hates cowards. He'd kill me if he thought I'd grow up to be a white-heart."
"I'd scarcely go as far as that," said Mr. Devering with his jolly laugh. "You take things hard, boy."
"Was that wolf a dangerous beast?" asked Dallas sharply.
"Not at all—he'd have run like a deer if he'd scented us. The wind was off the lake."
"But I didn't know that," cried the boy.
Mr. Devering said nothing. He just stalked on with the lamb.
Young Dallas' shoulders drooped sadly. "If he had been a wild, wild wolf," he said at last, "he might have attacked you, and there was I safe in the house."