Under these circumstances, it was not strange that H---- should keep a number of canine pets. Among them Bob, an English bulldog, was his favourite. He was as good-natured as he was ugly, seldom misbehaving, even when tempted beyond doggish endurance by the proximity of dark skins and waving drapery. On one occasion, however, he did give way to anger; but it must be admitted that he had provocation. H---- had some black ducks which he had carefully reared to ornament the little lake in the garden. One afternoon, when Master Bob was taking his siesta in the neighbourhood of the kitchen, with his small white teeth protruding, after the manner of bulldogs, from his black lips, and gleaming in the light, an unfortunate duck came by. Seeing the white oblong-masses in the region of Bob's mouth, she very naturally concluded that they were grains of rice left by the careless quadruped. Acting upon this theory, she hastily essayed to seize the morsel. The impact of her bill upon his nose woke Bob in terrible indignation. A short scuffle and a plaintive quack, and that duck's career was ended. But that was not all. So serious did the bulldog consider this insult to his dignity that, in spite of repeated castigations, he never rested until he had killed the whole of the remaining brood of ducks.[19] [Footnote 19: Whenever I think of Bob and the ducks I remember that line of Virgil, in which he tells of Juno's hatred of the Trojans--"Æternum servans sub pectore vulnus."] Bob's predecessor in office had been poisoned by a native cook. "But I got her two months," H---- added, "and told my people that I had sent for another bulldog from England, and that if they poisoned _him_ I should send for six more." "But you once told me you had your house broken into. How did that happen?" This was in one of our talks in the smoking-room after dinner. "It wasn't a very exciting business," he replied. "All I know was that the money was gone the next morning. The night before I was very tired and slept soundly; when I woke up I found my despatch-box gone. I summoned my people and set them to look for it; it was found about a hundred yards away, with the papers in it, but the money gone. About a month afterwards I discovered that one of the natives had been spending more money than he could account for, and, by the help of the native police, I got him convicted and sentenced to transportation for four years. There were three men concerned, but the others escaped through insufficient evidence. One of the stable boys had pulled up the bolts of the front door, and the thieves had quietly walked in, taken the box outside, and broken it open. It was a mere accident--my putting the money into the despatch-box instead of into the safe; but, of course, I took precautions against a repetition of the affair. I had my safe fastened into the ground, and the two safes at the office were built into the wall, as you saw.