“But he seems dreadfully grown-up and subdued now.”

“Three years ought to have subdued him,” Harley insisted.

But Villa shook her head.

As the machine drew up at the house and Kennan first stepped out, a dog’s whimperingly joyous bark of welcome struck Michael as not altogether unfamiliar.  The joyous bark turned to a suspicious and jealous snarl as Jerry scented the other dog’s presence from Harley’s caressing hand.  The next moment he had traced the original source of the scent into the limousine and sprung in after it.  With snarl and forward leap Michael met the snarling rush less than half-way, and was rolled over on the bottom of the car.

The Irish terrier, under all circumstances amenable to the control of the master as are few breeds of dogs, was instantly manifest in Jerry and Michael an Harley Kennan’s voice rang out.  They separated, and, despite the rumbling of low growling in their throats, refrained from attacking each other as they plunged out to the ground.  The little set-to had occurred in so few seconds, or fractions of seconds, that they had not begun to betray recognition of each other until they were out of the machine.  They were still comically stiff-legged and bristly as they aloofly sniffed noses.

“They know each other!” Villa cried.  “Let’s wait and see what they will do.”

As for Michael, he accepted, without surprise, the indubitable fact that Jerry had come back out of the Nothingness.  Things of this sort had begun to happen rapidly, but it was not the things themselves, but the connotations of them, that almost stunned him.  If the man and woman, whom he had last seen at Tulagi, and, likewise, Jerry, had come back from the Nothingness, then could come, and might come at any moment, the beloved Steward.

Instead of responding to Jerry, Michael sniffed and glanced about in quest of Steward.  Jerry’s first expression of greeting and friendliness took the form of a desire to run.  He barked invitation to his brother, scampered away half a dozen jumps, scampered back, and dabbed playfully at Michael with one forepaw in added emphasis of invitation ere he scampered away again.

For so many years had Michael not run with another dog, that at first Jerry’s invitation had little meaning to him.  Nevertheless, such running was an habitual expression of happiness and friendliness in dogdom, and especially strong had been his inheritance of it from Terrence and Biddy, the noted love-runners of the Solomons.

The next time Jerry dabbed at him with a paw, barked, and scurried away in an enticing semi-circle, Michael started involuntarily though slowly after him.  But Michael did not bark; and, after half a dozen leaps, he came to a full stop and looked to Villa and Harley for permission.

“All right, Michael,” Harley called heartily, deliberately turning his shoulder in the non-interest of consent as he extended his hand to help Villa from the machine.