Zebedee listened in quiet resentfulness, but Joe, who possessed a more volatile disposition, and who having satisfied his hunger was comparatively good-natured, remarked, "What'll ye do about Poacher, pop?"
Lucas's face darkened suddenly, and unhappily.
"Come here, ole boy," he said, and when the dog went to him, he bowed his head for a minute over him. "We've bin good friends—me an' you. Many's the trap I've led ye in, an' many a time my heart would 'a' bin sore if ye'd a bin caught. An' now, 'count o' my transgression, ye're a wanderin' sheep. Ye'll never git back in the fold agin unless some good sheep leads ye."
"There's somethin' you can't make over," said Zebedee, briefly. "He'll chase deer as long as he kin wag a leg."
"Leetle gal," said Lucas, suddenly, "would ye like to hev this dog?"
"To have him—that beauty dog!" 'Tilda Jane gasped, confusedly. "Oh, sir, you'd never give him away."
"I'd most as soon give a child away," said Lucas, "an' I'd never do it, if it warn't for his habits. Ye're a-goin' to Ciscasset, which is somethin' of a place, an' a ways from the woods. An' ye'll pet him an' kinder cherish him, an' keep him from frettin' an' bein' lonely. My ole woman don't set much store by dogs, an' when I'm workin' in the tannery he's off doggin' deer by himself. He's nearly got shot dead. See those ripples in his back? That's where he's bin grazed. Poacher, ole boy, you've got to go with this leetle gal, if she'll hev you."
'Tilda Jane hesitated, stammered, looked into the dog's anxious face, and the boys' protesting ones, and said at last, "But the ole man where I'm goin', mebbe he'll breach at my havin' two dogs."