It was the custom for one of the servants to untie Jinks in the morning, so that he could go at once to his master.  Occasionally his master would come and set him loose himself, and take him for a morning walk before it got too hot, so that whoever found Jinks had been untied naturally concluded the other had done it.

So it was on this particular morning.  Jinks, after lying in his kennel for some time with his meek expression, suddenly remembered this, and so resolved to go into the house as though he had just been untied.  He had cunning enough, however, to wait until he heard the servants moving about, and then he got up slowly, and, with his usual bright, wide-awake air, made his way into the house and to his master.

And this was the very morning when Jinks had been lying at his master’s feet, and, as he rose up, that his master noticed what a handsome animal he had grown, and how big he was getting.  There was no doubt he was a fine animal.  He was nearly full-grown now, and stood about fifteen inches high at the shoulders, and measured nearly two feet from the tip of his nose to the beginning of his bushy tail.  He had a handsome head, good, muscular limbs, and a beautiful coat of greyish-yellow color, rather dark on the back and head, but much lighter and softer underneath the body and on the insides of the legs.  His bright, full eyes changed color repeatedly, but, to a close observer, one dominant expression was always in them—­an expression of the deepest craft and cunning.

As he stood there, looking at his master with a subdued, enquiring kind of manner, the latter realized that he was almost a full-grown jackal, and began to wonder whether, after all his domestic training and surroundings, he would ever show the characteristic traits of his kind.  Up to now he had been gentleness itself, and was as meek and obedient as any domesticated dog, but he had wild and savage blood in him, and there was a peculiar gleam in his eyes at that moment that his master could not quite understand.

The truth was, Jinks was growing uneasy and uncomfortable under his master’s close scrutiny, and began to wonder, after all, whether he did not know all about that chicken.  He had never looked at him in this way before, and it both annoyed and irritated him to a frightful degree, and he grew restless, and finally turned his head so that he could not see the steady, embarrassing eyes of his master.

But, as he turned his head, his master caught sight of one tiny spot of blood on his neck which Jinks had evidently overlooked.  He said nothing for a moment, and then called Jinks to him in a kindly, caressing manner.

Jinks hesitated.  He had grown suspicious, and he did not like his master’s manner; in addition to which, he could not forget that he was guilty about the chicken; so, when his master reached forward to pat him, Jinks, thinking he was going to slap him, suddenly turned round and bit him sharply through the hand.  It was the very same hand that had fed him from a baby, and cared for and tended him all through his babyhood and young days, and up to this time had protected him from all harm and danger.