As an instance, this very morning Biddy, remembering a secret mauling at the hands of Lerumie, laid teeth into his naked calf and threw him sprawling into the water, trade-box, earthly possessions and all, and then laughed at him, sure in the protection of _Mister_ Haggin who grinned at the episode.
Then, too, there was usually at least one bush-dog on the _Arangi_ at which Jerry and Michael, from the beach, could bark their heads off.
Once, Terrence, who was nearly as large as an Airedale and fully as lion- hearted--Terrence the Magnificent, as Tom Haggin called him--had caught such a bush-dog trespassing on the beach and given him a delightful thrashing, in which Jerry and Michael, and Patsy and Kathleen, who were at the time alive, had joined with many shrill yelps and sharp nips.
Jerry had never forgotten the ecstasy of the hair, unmistakably doggy in scent, which had filled his mouth at his one successful nip.

Bush-dogs were dogs--he recognized them as his kind; but they were somehow different from his own lordly breed, different and lesser, just as the blacks were compared with _Mister_ Haggin, Derby, and Bob.
But Jerry did not continue to gaze at the nearing _Arangi_.

Biddy, wise with previous bitter bereavements, had sat down on the edge of the sand, her fore-feet in the water, and was mouthing her woe.

That this concerned him, Jerry knew, for her grief tore sharply, albeit vaguely, at his sensitive, passionate heart.

What it presaged he knew not, save that it was disaster and catastrophe connected with him.