“It is a dog or something,” observed the son.

“Very well, but the bread-bags will be useful,” replied the father, and they pulled on to the landing-stairs.  When they arrived there they lifted out the bags, laid them on the stone steps, and proceeded to unrip them, when they found Snarleyyow, who was just giving signs of returning animation.  They took the bags with them, after having rolled his carcass out, and left it on the steps, for there was a fine for throwing anything into the canal.  The cur soon after recovered, and was able to stand on his legs; so soon as he could walk he made his way to the door of the widow Vandersloosh, and howled for admittance.  The widow had retired:  she had been reading her book of prieres, as every one should do, who has been cheating people all day long.  She was about to extinguish her light, when this serenade saluted her ears; it became intolerable as the dog gained strength.

Babette had long been fast asleep, and was with difficulty roused up and directed to beat the cur away.  She attempted to perform the duty, arming herself with the broom; but the moment she opened the door Snarleyyow dashed in between her legs, upsetting her on the brick pavement.  Babette screamed, and her mistress came out in the passage to ascertain the cause; the dog not being able to run into the parlour, bolted up the stairs, and snapping at the widow as he passed, secured a berth underneath her bed.

“Oh, mein Gott! it is the dog of the lieutenant,” exclaimed Babette, coming up the stairs in greater dishabille than her mistress, and with the broom in her hand.  “What shall we do—­how shall we get rid of him?”

“A thousand devils may take the lieutenant, and his nasty dog, too,” exclaimed the widow, in great wrath; “this is the last time that either of them enter my house; try, Babette, with your broom—­shove at him hard.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Babette, pushing with all her strength at the dog beneath the bed, who seized the broom with his teeth, and pulled it away from Babette.  It was a struggle of strength between the girl and Snarleyyow—­pull, Babette—­pull, dog—­one moment the broom, with two-thirds of the handle, disappeared under the bed, the next the maid recovered her lost ground.  Snarleyyow was first tired of this contention, and to prove that he had no thoughts of abandoning his position, he let go the broom, flew at Babette’s naked legs, and having inserted his teeth half through her ankle, he returned growling to his former retreat.  “O dear, mein Gott!” exclaimed Babette, dropping her broom, and holding her ankle with both hands.

“What shall we do?” cried the widow, wringing her hands.