"But I'll hold his nose if
you're afraid." And instantly she clasped the pointed muzzle between her
hands.
Even when Vic's hand hovered above his head Bart had no eye for him, could
not divert his gaze from the face of the child. Once, twice and again,
delicately as one might handle bubbles, Gregg touched that scarred
forehead.
"I made him come, didn't I?" she cried in triumph, and turned a tense
little face towards Vic, but the instant her eyes moved the wolf-dog leaped
away half the width of the room, and stood shivering, more devilish than
ever. She stamped again.
"Bad, bad, bad Bart," she said angrily. "Shall I make him come again?"
"Leave him be," muttered Vic, closing his eyes. "Leave him be where he is.
I don't want him."
"Oh," she said, "it's hard to make him do things, sometimes. But Daddy Dan
can make him do anything."
"Humph!" grunted Vic. He was remembering how, at the master's order, Bart
had crouched at his feet in the wood, an unchained murderer hungrily
waiting for an excuse to kill. There was something very odd about the
people of this house; and it would be a long time before he rid himself of
the impression of the cold, steady eyes which had flashed up to him a
moment before out of that baby face.
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