Fortunately, Waddles wore a stout collar which broke the force of the grip, otherwise his neck might have been broken before Baldy, who heard Anne’s cry, came to stop the fray. But as it was, the sleek white neck was streaked with red, there was a rent in one of the beautiful ears, and for the first time in his life Waddles, the Mayor of Dogtown, had been mauled and shaken like a common cur. And this, too, when he was growing old, and by a dog of the same household. True, in the old days, he often had differences with Tiger, the miller’s cat; but cat scratches on one’s nose are considered wounds of honour in dog etiquette, and are no disgrace. Lumberlegs was shut in the yard beside his kennel, and Waddles retreated to the remotest corner of the cellar, from which he refused to come forth even when Anne, bringing warm water, a bit of sponge, and sticking plaster, called him in her most persuasive voice. “He feels sulky,” said Baldy, “leave him alone a spell and he’ll come out all right. I reckon his feelings is hurt more’n his neck.” “That is just it,” said Anne, sorrowfully, “and to a dog like Waddles hurt feelings are much worse to bear than a bitten neck.” But when he failed to appear at dinner time, and Anne took a lantern to hunt for him among the coal-bin caverns, the poor neck was so swollen that the collar was sunken in the flesh like a ring on a fat finger. Even when the collar was taken off, the bite bathed and cooled with a soothing wash, and the rent in the ear drawn together with narrow strips of rubber plaster, he refused either to respond to Anne’s petting, come upstairs, or in fact move at all, though after she reluctantly left, she heard him lapping water from the refrigerator pan after his usual hot weather habit. “I wouldn’t trouble if I was you,” said Baldy, cheerfully; “they all hev their little scrapes. It’s accordin’ to natur’ for dogs to delight to bark and bite, like it says in the Sunday-school poetry, that everybody knows.” “That’s one of the things that ‘everybody knows’ that isn’t true,” answered Anne, emphatically; “dogs’ real delight is to live with people and be understood and have their feelings respected. That’s why I’m afraid that Waddles will never forget to-day; he has been feeling hurt about Lumberlegs for a long while, and now he thinks he is in disgrace besides.”