Missus has told me your name times enough, too.

I can allus recklect that there's a Nic in it.

Hi, you, Nib, this here's the young master--young master! d'yer hear ?" The dog growled, but wagged its tail.
"We calls him Nibbler, sir; but he's a biter, and no mistake, ain't yer, old man?
You ought to ha' had him with yer when them blacks come yesterday.

He don't mind spears and boomerangs, do you, Nib ?" The dog growled and showed its teeth.
"Pst, lad!--blackfellow." The dog made a bound to the full extent of its chain, and uttered a deep bay.
"All right, Nib.

Gone!" cried Samson, showing his yellow teeth.
"Breakfast." The dog's manner changed directly.
"Come and pat him, Master Nico-de--Dick-o-me--I say, sir, hadn't I better keep to Nic ?" "Yes, if you like," replied the boy, approaching the great dog, but only to be received with a low growl.
"Ah!" shouted Samson, "didn't I tell you this was young master come home?
Down!" The dog threw itself on its side, blinked at him with one eye and raised one paw deprecatingly, as it slowly rapped the ground with its long thin tail.
"Now come and put your foot on his neck, sir, and pat his head.