“I know you’re not, sonny,” she answered; “but that don’t make me the less afraid for you. He’s a bad man, that brother-in-law of mine! I fear he’ll do you a mischief. I’m afraid I did wrong in taking you! I ought to have done what I could for you without keeping you about me. We can’t get rid of him because he’s got money in the business. Not that he’s part owner--I don’t mean that! If we’d got the money handy, we’d pay him off at once!” “I don’t care about myself,” said Clare. “I don’t mean I like to be kicked, but it don’t make me miserable. What I can’t bear is to see him cruel to the beasts. I love the beasts, mother--even cross old Grizzly.--But Mr. Gunn don’t meddle much with _him_!” “He respects his own ugly sort!” answered Mrs. Halliwell, with a laugh. For a while it was plain to Clare that the master kept an eye on his brother, and on himself and the puma. On one occasion he told the assembled staff that he would have no tyranny: every one knew there was among them but one tyrant. Gunn saw that his brother was awake and watching: it was a check on his conduct, but he hated Clare the worse. For the puma, he was afraid of him now, and went no more into his cage. With the rest of the men Clare was a favourite, for they knew him true and helpful, and constantly the same: they could always depend on him! Abdiel shared in the favour shown his master. They said the dog was no beauty, and had not a hair of breeding, but he was almost a human creature, if he wasn’t too good for one, and it was a shame to kick him. Chapter XLIX. GLUM GUNN’S REVENGE. They had opened the menagerie in a certain large town. It was the evening-exhibition, and Clare was going his round with his wand of office, pointing to the different animals, and telling of them what he thought would most interest his hearers, when another attendant, the most friendly of all, came behind him, and whispered that Glum Gunn had got hold of Abby, and must be going to do the dog a mischief. Clare instantly gave him his wand, and bolted through the crowd, reproaching himself that, because Abby seemed restless, he had shut him up: if he had not been shut up, Gunn would not have got hold of him! When he reached the top of the steps, there was Gunn on the platform, addressing the crowd. It was plain to the boy, by this time not inexperienced, that he had been drinking, and, though not drunk, had taken enough to rouse the worst in him. He had the poor dog by the scruff of the neck, and was holding him out at arm’s-length. Abdiel was the very picture of wretchedness. Except in colour and size, he was more like a flea than like any sort of dog--with his hind legs drawn up, his tail tucked in tight between them, and his back-bone curved into a half circle. In this uncomfortable plight, the tyrant was making a burlesque speech about him.