I gave an angry growl, and jumping up, bit at his leg.  He turned around, and though it was not a very bright night, there was light enough for me to see the ugly face of my old master.

He seemed so angry to think that Jim and I dared to snap at him.  He caught up a handful of stones, and with some bad words threw them at us.  Just then, away in front of us, was a queer whistle, and then another one like it behind us.  Jenkins made a strange noise in his throat, and started to run down a side street, away from the direction of the two whistles.

I was afraid that he was going to get away, and though I could not hold him, I kept springing up on him, and once I tripped him up.  Oh, how furious he was!  He kicked me against the side of a wall, and gave me two or three hard blows with a stick that he caught up, and kept throwing stones at me.

I would not give up, though I could scarcely see him for the blood that was running over my eyes.  Old Jim got so angry whenever Jenkins touched me, that he ran up behind and nipped his calves, to make him turn on him.

Soon Jenkins came to a high wall, where he stopped, and with a hurried look behind, began to climb over it.  The wall was too high for me to jump.  He was going to escape.  What shall I do?  I barked as loudly as I could for some one to come, and then sprang up and held him by the leg as he was getting over.

I had such a grip, that I went over the wall with him, and left Jim on the other side.  Jenkins fell on his face in the earth.  Then he got up, and with a look of deadly hatred on his face, pounced upon me.  If help had not come, I think he would have dashed out my brains against the wall, as he dashed out my poor little brothers’ against the horse’s stall.  But just then there was a running sound.  Two men came down the street and sprang upon the wall, just where Jim was leaping up and down and barking in distress.

I saw at once by their uniform and the clubs in their hands, that they were policemen.  In one short instant they had hold of Jenkins.  He gave up then, but he stood snarling at me like an ugly dog.  “If it hadn’t been for that cur, I’d never a been caught.  Why——­,” and he staggered back and uttered a bad word, “it’s me own dog.”

“More shame to you,” said one of the policemen, sternly; “what have you been up to at this time of night, to have your own dog and a quiet minister’s spaniel dog a chasing you through the street?”

Jenkins began to swear and would not tell them anything.  There was a house in the garden, and just at this minute some one opened a window and called out:  “Hallo, there, what are you doing?”

“We’re catching a thief, sir,” said one of the policemen, “leastwise I think that’s what he’s been up to.  Could you throw us down a bit of rope?  We’ve no handcuffs here, and one of us has to go to the lock-up and the other to Washington street, where there’s a woman yelling blue murder; and hurry up, please, sir.”