'He is bigger than I, a lot,' said Douglas; 'I didn't see him properly till after I had hit him once.'
'Well, my lad has seen him in the yard once before—the dog I mean, not you, boy; and I have missed three chickens this week, and that's the dog which took them. It ought to be shot.'
Douglas' hand tightened on his friend's collar, and his face whitened. 'It's not true,' he said. 'Bully is an awfully good dog. He never touches anything; he wouldn't even touch my rabbits if they were loose.'
So far as looks went, Bully came short of this good reputation. His face was villainous-looking, and a wound on one side, and sundry scratches on his nose did not add to his beauty.
'I have paid for those chickens, Douglas,' said his father, when the angry farmer had gone away. 'I don't suppose it was Bully, but as he is so much at large, we must take Mr. Wilkins's word for it. In future he must be kept under control.'
Several weeks passed without any further complaint. Bully spent all his time, when Douglas was at school, on his chain by the back-door, an injustice which the boy resented as bitterly as the dog.
After an interval of this restraint the discipline was gradually relaxed, and Bully at times was allowed his usual freedom.
Douglas was scarcely surprised when the farmer appeared at their house again, this time with his enemy the cowboy.
'Here sir,' Farmer Wilkins hailed the boy, 'that dog of yours has made away with four as nice pullets as ever I saw.'
'I don't believe it,' said Douglas, bluntly.