himself put in kind people. He pitied even the dirty, unlovely dog, on which by chance his drunken, aimless glance had fallen.
"Doggie," said he, calling it by a name common to all dogs; "Doggie, come here, don't be afraid."
Doggie wanted very much to come. He wagged his tail, but could not make up his mind. The peasant patted his knee with his hand, and repeated reassuringly:
"Come along, then, silly. I swear I won't hurt you."
But while the dog was hesitating, wagging its tail more and more energetically, and advancing with short steps, the humour of the drunkard changed. He recalled all the insults that had been heaped on him by kind people, and felt angry and dully malicious, so that when Doggie lay on his back before him, he gave him a vicious kick in the side with the toe of his heavy boot.
"Gam! Dirty! Where are you coming to!"
The dog began to whimper, more from surprise and the insult, than from pain, and the peasant staggered home, where he gave his wife a savage beating, and tore to pieces a new kerchief which he had bought for her as a present the week before.
From this time forth the dog ceased to trust people who wished to pet it, and either put his tail between his legs and ran away, or sometimes
