“Do you think he’s gone mad, Shorty?” asked William uneasily.

Jan did not know what the words meant, but he saw that the man was afraid of him for some reason.  He gave a fierce snarl and faced them.

“Wouldn’t drink water if he was mad,” replied Shorty.  “Why didn’t you let him alone, anyhow?  He wasn’t bothering you till you hit him.”

“I hate dogs, and you know it,” retorted William angrily.  “It made me sick to see the Pixleys such fools over this one.  We all had to stand around and wait on that dog as if he was the King of England.  I guess he finds out the difference now that the family has gone.”

Shorty moved slowly toward Jan, holding out a hand and saying, “You’re all right, old fellow!”

But the dog backed off and his nose twitched warningly.  He would fight if these men bothered him.  With a final growl of defiance Jan left the stable, but he carried with him a new sense of power.  He could make people let him alone if he snarled and showed his teeth.

That night he prowled around until he found the garbage cans.  So he learned to hide in the daytime and forage like a wild animal at night.  If he passed one of the servants, he growled and braced himself stiffly, while his hair rose in a ridge along his back.  One glance at his bloodshot eyes and big, white teeth was enough to make every one, man, woman or child, hurry out of his way.

In the excitement of packing for the trip, Elizabeth had neglected to have Jan’s hair clipped.  Maybe she told the servants to have it cut.  Now, the long fur heated and worried the dog constantly and the fleas nearly drove him mad.  Day and night, he bit and scratched, tearing out tufts of matted hair until raw, bleeding spots made his body a mass of sores.  Each day he grew more savage.  He hated every one now; the monks who had sold him, Mr. Pixley who had taken him from the Hospice, Miss Elizabeth who had deserted him, and the servants who abused him.

“I wish I could tell the dogs at the Hospice not to help people who are lost,” he thought as he lay in the dark.  “If William were lost in the snow and I found him, I would fasten my teeth in his throat.”

So, the gentle Prince Jan, whose heart had been full of love and trust, and who wanted to help every one, became a savage beast, ready to fight all people and hating even those whom he once had loved and for whom he would have died gladly.

Chapter VI

THE POUND

Six months went by and the Pixleys had not returned, but Jan did not know that Mr. Pixley was still very ill.  The dog hid or skulked if he met any person, and his deep growls and twitching nose were so threatening that no one dared to go nearer.  His silky hair was rough and ragged, raw bleeding spots scarred his body, his eyes were bloodshot and his tail was almost bare of the long hair that had once made it a beautiful plume.