The man, ridden by
his racial superstition, stared open-mouthed at the tiny demon
who screeched defiance at him.
And, there, in the dim shadows of the barn, his overwrought fancy
seemed to make out a grim formless Thing, close at the child's
side; crouching in silent menace.
The heat of the day--the shock of seeing Lad appear from nowhere
and stand thus, by the veranda, a few minutes earlier--these and
the once-timid Sonya's confident belief in Lad's presence,--all
wrought on the stupid, easily-thrilled mind of the Slav.
"The werewolf!" he babbled; throwing down the belt, and bolting
out into the friendly sunlight.
"The werewolf! I--I saw it! I--at least--God of Russia, what DID
I see? What did SHE see?"
Over a magnificent lifeless body on the veranda bent the two who
had loved Lad best and whom he had served so worshipfully for
sixteen years. The Mistress's face was wet with tears she did not
try to check. In the Master's throat was a lump that made speech
painful. For the tenth time he leaned down and laid his fingers
above the still heart of the dog; seeking vainly for sign of
fluttering.
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