The collie who lived on the other side of the fence, in the back yard of the branch post-office, answered with a snarl.

Then in an instant the endless feud between the two dogs was resumed.

They dragged their respective kennels to the fence, and through the cracks raged at each other in a frenzy of hate; their teeth snapped and gleamed; the hackles on their backs rose and stiffened.

Their hideous clamor could have been heard for blocks around.
What a massacre should the two ever meet! Meanwhile, Maria was knocking at Zerkow's miserable hovel.
"Who is it?
Who is it ?" cried the rag-picker from within, in his hoarse voice, that was half whisper, starting nervously, and sweeping a handful of silver into his drawer.
"It's me, Maria Macapa;" then in a lower voice, and as if speaking to herself, "had a flying squirrel an' let him go." "Ah, Maria," cried Zerkow, obsequiously opening the door.

"Come in, come in, my girl; you're always welcome, even as late as this.