with as much pride as if he had been a Pawnee warrior.
When it was finished he held it out at arm's-length,
and said, "Crusoe, my pup, ain't ye proud of it? I'll
tell ye what it is, pup, the next time you an' I floor
Caleb, I'll put the claws round
your
neck, an' make ye
wear em ever arter, so I will."
The dog did not seem quite to appreciate this piece
of prospective good fortune. Vanity had no place in