He looked all he said, but even while I
watched, both man and dog plumped out to their natural sizes,
precisely as dried apples swell in water. Garin was on his
shoulder, and his breast and feet all at the same time, so that
Stanley spoke all through a cloud of Garin--gulping, sobbing,
slavering Garm. He did not say anything that I could understand,
except that he had fancied he was going to die, but that now he
was quite well, and that he was not going to give up Garin any
more to anybody under the rank of Beelzebub.
Then he said he felt hungry, and thirsty, and happy.
We went down to tea at the rest-house, where Stanley stuffed
himself with sardines and raspberry jam, and beer, and cold
mutton and pickles, when Garm wasn't climbing over him; and then
Vixen and I went on.
Garm saw how it was at once. He said good-bye to me three times,
giving me both paws one after another, and leaping on to my
shoulder. He further escorted us, singing Hosannas at the top of
his voice, a mile down the road.
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