Then shaking himself free of care, he adds, cheerfully, "But I guess I taught him the price of chalk.
He won't interfere with us again, I'm thinking." "I'm sure I hope not," says the old lady, regarding dejectedly the milky road.
But his favourite sport is to wait at the top of the hill for another dog, and then race down.

On these occasions the chief occupation of the other fellow is to run about behind, picking up the scattered articles, loaves, cabbages, or shirts, as they are jerked out.

At the bottom of the hill, he stops and waits for his friend.
"Good race, wasn't it ?" he remarks, panting, as the Human comes up, laden to the chin.

"I believe I'd have won it, too, if it hadn't been for that fool of a small boy.

He was right in my way just as I turned the corner.
_You noticed him_?
Wish I had, beastly brat! What's he yelling like that for?
_Because I knocked him down and ran over him_?
Well, why didn't he get out of the way?
It's disgraceful, the way people leave their children about for other people to tumble over.