He had lost his domesticated look for the time being; and as he sat there, with his bright eyes gleaming, his rough tongue hanging out of his open mouth, and an expectant look on his furry, oval face, he looked just what he was—­a strong and healthy young jackal.

Suddenly he thought of something, and without an instant’s hesitation lay down to carry out his idea.  Taking the rope in his strong white teeth, he gradually, in a silent, stealthy manner, began to gnaw the strands one by one.  Now and then he would stop just for a moment to moisten his lips and to make sure that the chicken was still there; then he would continue the gnawing as before.  When he got to the last strand, what his strong, powerful teeth had nearly accomplished, his rough, coarse tongue finished, for it was covered with thorn-like protuberances capable of scraping the flesh off an ox.

There was a little snap, and Jinks was free.  He had never wished to be free before, but the chicken had given him his wish for freedom, and he meant to have the chicken.  With one swift spring he caught the bird, and in another moment his teeth were buried in its breast and back, and the unfortunate straggler from the home roost was giving his last cry, choked in its infancy by another grip from Jinks’ mouth.

Jinks took the dainty morsel inside his kennel; for, now he had caught the chicken, he had a guilty feeling, and, moreover, he wanted to enjoy it in peace and privacy.  And, oh, how he did enjoy it!  Never in all his life had he tasted anything so delicious—­it was so young, and juicy, and tender, and the flavor of it!  He was obliged to stop every now and then to lick his lips and relish it to the utmost, for he would not have missed an atom of the pleasure for the world.

He ate the whole thing—­flesh and bones and even the entrails:  he also ate a few feathers, which he did not particularly care about; but it was impossible to get the delicious food without, and so he did not care much.  By the time he had finished, the only remains of the chicken were the feathers, which floated about as though seeking for their lost home.

By morning Jinks had removed every trace of his night’s doings but the broken rope and the feathers.  He had licked every tiny spot of blood off his mouth and coat, but he could not tie himself up again, and he could not get rid of the feathers, although he had made several clever attempts.  He had tried to catch them with his mouth and paws, but they had evaded him in the most wonderful manner, and had maddened him at times by floating round him, and even alighting on his very nose, as if to taunt him.  In vain he slapped his nose sharply with his paw each time he felt that nasty, irritating, tickling sensation.  He always gave his nose a hard knock, while the feathers went floating gaily off as before.  He gave it up at last, and lay down in his kennel with a meek expression on his face, but a guilty look in his eyes.