And Father and the Toyman made Jake Miller chain up the wicked dog—very tight this time—with a chain that would never break.
And soon that bad dog died, which was a good thing too. Nobody wasted many tears on him.
But little Wienerwurst got well and strong, and chased the pretty pink pigeons—in fun of course—just as fast as ever he did.
TWENTIETH NIGHT
THE LIONS OF THE NORTH WIND
By the fire sat the Toyman.
He must have been seeing things in the flames, for he kept looking, looking all the time.
He was all alone, for Father and Mother Green had gone to town to see a fine wedding. It was not often that they stayed out so late, but this was a grand event. And they knew the three happy children would be safe in the Toyman's care.
They were all in the next room. Jehosophat and Hepzebiah were sound asleep—but not Marmaduke. He was sitting up, a little bit of a fellow in a big bed.
Outside, old Giant Northwind roared and roared. Now he seemed to be running around and around the house, faster than any train. Now he stopped to knock at the door and bang at the window panes. Now he trampled on the roof, knocking off pieces of slate and a brick from the chimney, which fell, crash, through the glass cover of the little greenhouse.
Marmaduke did not like the sounds cruel Giant Northwind made. And it was very dark in the room. To tell the truth he was just a little bit frightened. But he didn't say anything at all. For the Toyman had told him always to be "game." That was a funny word, but Marmaduke knew what it meant. A brave little boy must not cry even if he is afraid.