CHAPTER XI. The Guard
Lad was old--very, very old. He had passed his sixteenth birthday. Fora collie, sixteen is as old as is ninety-five for a human.
The great dog's life had been as beautiful as himself. And now, in thelate twilight of his years, Time's hand rested on him as lovingly asdid the Mistress's. He had few of the distressing features of age.
True; his hearing was duller than of yore. The magnificent body's lineswere blurred with flesh. The classic muzzle was snow white; as were thelashes and eyebrows. And the once mighty muscles were stiff andunwieldy. Increasing feebleness crept over him, making exercise aburden and any sudden motion a pain. The once trumpeting bark was ahollow echo of itself.
But the deep-set dark eyes, with a soul looking out of them, were asclear as ever. The uncannily wise brain had lost not an atom of itspower. The glorious mahogany-and-snow coat was still abundant. Thefearlessly gay spirit and loyal heart were undimmed by age.
Laddie resented angrily his new limitations. From time to time he wouldforget them; and would set off at a run in the wake of Bruce and Wolf,when the sound of a stranger's approach made them gallop up thedriveway to investigate. But always; after the first few stiff bounds,he would come to a panting halt and turn back wearily to his restingplace in the veranda's coolest corner; as indignant over his ownweakness, as he would have been at fetters which impeded his limbs.
He was more and more sensitive about this awkward feebleness of his.And he sought to mask it; in ways that seemed infinitely pathetic tothe two humans who loved him. For instance, one of his favorite rompsin bygone days had been to throw himself down in front of the Mistressand pretend to bite her little feet; growling terrifically as he didit. Twice of late, as he had been walking at her side, his footing hadslipped or he had lost his balance, and had tumbled headlong Instantly,both times, he had begun to growl and had bitten in mock fury at theMistress's foot. By this pitiful ruse he strove to make her believethat his fall had been purposeful and a part of the olden game.
But worst of all he missed the long walks on which, from puppyhood, hehad always accompanied the Mistress and the Master. Unknown to the olddog, these walks had been shortened, mercifully, and slowed down, toaccommodate themselves to Lad's waning strength: But the time came wheneven a half-mile, at snail-pace, over a smooth road, was too much forhis wind and endurance.
Nowadays, when they were going for a walk, Lad was first lured into thehouse and left there. The ruse did not fool him, any more than it wouldhave deceived a grown man. And his feelings were cruelly hurt at everyinstance of this seeming defection on the part of his two worshipedhuman chums.
"He still enjoys life," mused the Master, one day in late summer, as heand the Mistress sat on the veranda, with Lad asleep at their feet."And he can still get about a bit. His appetite is good, and he drowseshappily for a good deal of the day; and the car-rides are still as muchfun for him as ever they were. But when the time comes--and he'sbreaking fast, these past few months--when the time comes that life isa misery to him--"
"I know," interposed the Mistress, her voice not quite steady. "I know.Do you suppose I haven't been thinking about it, on the hot nights whenI couldn't sleep? But, when the time comes--when itcomes--you'll--you'll do it, yourself, won't you?"
"Yes," promised the Master, miserably. "No one else shall. I'd rathercut off one of my own hands, though. I'VE been doing a bit of thinking,too--at night. It's nobody's job but mine. Laddie would rather have itthat way, I know. And, by a bullet. He's a gallant old soldier. Andthat is the way for him to go. Now, for the Lord's sake, let's talkabout something else! A man or woman is a fool to care that way aboutany mere dog. I--"
"But Lad isn't a 'mere' dog," contradicted the Mistress, stooping topet the collie's classic head as it lay across her foot. "He's--he'sLaddie."
The sound of his name pierced the sleep mists and brought the dog towakefulness. He raised his head inquiringly toward the Mistress, andhis plumed tail began to thump the floor. The Mistress patted himagain; and spoke a word or two. Lad prepared to drowse once more. Then,to his dulled ears came the padding of little bare feet on the grass.And he glanced up again, this time in eager interest.
Across the lawn from the orchard came trotting a child; carrying abasket of peaches toward the kitchen. The youngster wore but a singlegarment, a shapeless calico dress that fell scarcely to her knees. Shewas Sonya, the seven-year-old daughter of one of the Place's extraworkmen, a Slav named Ruloff who lived in the mile-distant village,across the lake.
Ruloff, following the custom of his peasant ancestors, put his wholefamily to work, from the time its members were old enough to toddle.And he urged them against the vice of laziness by means of anever-ready fist, or a still readier toe or a harness strap--whicheverof the trio of energy producers chanced to be handiest. In coming overto the Place, for a month's labor, during the harvest season, hebrought along every day his youngest and most fragile offspring, Sonya.Under her father's directions and under his more drastic modes ofencouragement, the little girl was of much help to him in his doilytoil.
Twice, the Master had caught him punishing her for undue slowness incarrying out some duty too heavy for her frail strength. On both timeshe had stopped the brutal treatment. On the second, he had told Ruloffhe would not only discharge him, but assist his departure from thePlace with a taste of boot-toe medicine, if ever the Slav should lay ahand on the child again during his period of employment there. ThePlace's English superintendent had promised like treatment to the man,should he catch him ill treating Sonya.
Wherefore, Ruloff had perforce curbed his parental urgings towardviolence;--at least during the hours when he and the child were on thePlace.
Sonya was an engaging little thing; and the Mistress had made a pet ofher. So had the Master. But the youngster's warmest friend was oldSunnybank Lad.
From the first day of Sonya's advent in his life, Lad had constitutedhimself her adorer and constant companion.
Always his big heart had gone out to children; as to everything weakand defenseless. Not always had his treatment at the hands of childrenencouraged this feeling of loving chivalry and devotion. But Sonya wasan exception. Whenever she could steal a minute of time, away from herfather's glum eyes and nagging voice and ready fist, she would seek outLad.
She was as gentle with the grand old dog as other children had beenrough. She loved to cuddle down close beside him, her arms around hisshaggy neck; and croon queer little high-voiced songs to him; her thincheek against his head. She used to save out fragments from her ownsparse lunch to give to him. She was inordinately proud to walk at hisside during Lad's rare rambles around the Place. Child and dog made apretty picture of utter chumship.
To nobody save the Mistress and the Master had Laddie ever given hisheart so completely as to this baby.
Hurried though she was, today, Sonya set down her basket of peachesand, with a shy glance of appeal at the two humans, reached across theveranda edge to stroke Lad's head and to accept in delight hisproffered paw. Then, guiltily, she caught up her basket and sped on tothe kitchen.
Lad, slowly and with difficulty, got to his feet and followed her. Aminute later the Mistress watched them making their way to the orchard,side by side; the child slackening her eager steps in order to keeppace with the aged dog.
"I wish we could arrange to take her away from that brute of a fatherof hers, and keep her here," said the Mistress. "It's horrible to thinkof such a helpless wisp of a baby being beaten and made to work, dayand night. And then she and Laddie love each other so. They--"
"What can we do?" asked the Master, hopelessly. "I've spoken to thevillage authorities about it. But it seems the law can't interfere;unless brutal cruelty can be proved or unless the parents are unfit tobring up the child."
"Brutal cruelty?" echoed the Mistress. "What could be more brutal thanthe way he beats her? Why, last week there was a bruise on her arm asbig--"
"What can we prove? He has a legal right to punish h
er. If we got themup in court, he'd frighten her into swearing she hurt her arm on afence picket and that he never harms her. No, there's no sort of curefor the rotten state of affairs."
But the Master was mistaken. There was a very good cure indeed for it.And that cure was being applied at the moment he denied its existence.
Sonya had disappeared from view over the crest of the lawn: Down intothe orchard she went, Lad at her side; to where Ruloff was waiting forher to lug another full basket back to the house.
"Move!" he ordered, as she drew near. "Don't crawl! Move, or I'll makeyou move."
This threat he voiced very bravely indeed. He was well out of sight ofthe house. The superintendent and the two other men were working on thefar side of the hill. It seemed an eminently safe time to exercise hisparental authority. And, hand uplifted, he took a threatening steptoward the little girl.
Sonya cowered back in mortal dread. There was no mistaking the importof Ruloff's tone or gesture. Lad read it as clearly as did the child.As Sonya shrank away from the menace, a furry shoulder was pressedreassuringly against her side. Lad's cold muzzle was thrust for themerest instant into her trembling hand.
Then, as Ruloff advanced, Lad took one majestic step forward; his greatbody shielding the girl; his dark eyes sternly on the man's; his lipsdrawing back from his blunted yellow fangs. Deep in his throat a growlwas born.
Ruloff checked himself; looking doubtfully at the shaggy brute. And atthe same moment the superintendent appeared over the ridge of the hill,on his way to the orchard. The Slav picked up a filled basket andshoved it at Sonya.
"Jump!" he ordered. "Keep moving. Be back here in one minute!"
With a sigh of enormous relief and a pat of furtive gratitude to Lad,the child set forth on her errand. Yet, even at risk of a sharperrebuke, she accommodated her pace to Lad's stately slow steps.
Hitherto she had loved the dog for no special reason except that herheart somehow went out to him. But now she had a practical cause forher devotion. Lad had stood between her and a fist blow. He had risked,she knew not what, to defy her all-terrible father and to protect herfrom punishment.
As soon as she was out of Ruloff's sight, she set down her basket, andflung both puny arms about the dog's neck in an agony of gratitude.
Her squeeze almost strangled the weak old collie. But there was love init. And because of that, he reveled in the hurt.
"You won't let him thump me!" she whispered in the dog's ear. "Youwon't let him. I'd never be afraid of him, if you were there. Oh,Laddie, you're so darling!"
Lad, highly pleased, licked her wizened little face and, sitting down,insisted on shaking hands with her. He realized he had done somethingquite wonderful and had made this little chum of his proud of him.Wherefore, he was proud of himself; and felt young and gayagain;--until his next strenuous effort to walk fast.
All night, in her sleep, in the stiflingly hot loft of her father'shovel, which served her and the five other Ruloff children as adormitory, Sonya was faintly aware of that bright memory. Her firstwaking thought was of the shaggy shoulder pressed so protectinglyagainst her side; and of the reassuring thrust of Lad's muzzle into hercupped palm. It all seemed as vividly real as though she could stillfeel the friendly contact.
On the next morning, Ruloff alone of all the village's population wentto work. For it was Labor Day.
Ruloff did not believe in holidays,--either for himself or for hisfamily. And while wages were so high he was not minded to throw away afull day's earnings, just for the sake of honoring a holiday ordainedin a country for which he felt no fondness or other interest. So, withSonya tagging after him, he made his way to the Place, as usual.
Now, on Labor Day, of that year, was held the annual outdoor dog-showat Hawthorne. Lad, of course, was far too old to be taken to a show.And this was one of the compensations of old age. For Laddie detesteddog shows. But, abnormally sensitive by nature, this sensitiveness hadgrown upon him with failing strength and added years. Thus, when he sawBruce and Bob and Jean bathed and groomed and made ready for the show,he was sad at heart. For here was one more thing in which he no longerhad any share.
And so he lay down in his cave, under the piano, his head between hisabsurdly small white forepaws; and hearkened sadly to the preparationsfor departure.
Bruce ("Sunnybank Goldsmith") was perhaps the most beautiful collie ofhis generation. Groomed for a show, he made most other dogs lookplebeian and shabby. That day, one may say in passing, he was destinedto go through the collie classes, to Winners, with a rush; and then towin the award and cup for "Best Dog Of Any Breed In The Show."
Bruce's son and daughter--Bobby and Jean were to win in theirrespective collie classes as Best Puppy and Best Novice. It was to be aday of triumph for the Sunnybank Kennels. Yet, somehow, it was to be aday to which the Mistress and the Master never enjoyed looking back.
Into the car the three dogs were put. The Mistress and the Master andthe Place's superintended got aboard, and the trip to Hawthorne began.
Laddie had come out from his cave to see the show-goers off. TheMistress, looking back, had a last glimpse of him, standing in thefront doorway; staring wistfully after the car. She waved her hand tohim in farewell. Lad wagged his plumed tail, once, in reply, to thesalute. Then, heavily, he turned back again into the house.
"Dear old Laddie!" sighed the Mistress. "He used to hate to go toshows. And now he hates being left behind. It seems so cruel to leavehim. And yet--"
"Oh the maids will take good care of him!" consoled the Master. "Theyspoil him, whenever they get a chance. And we'll be back before fiveo'clock. We can't be forever looking out for his crotchety feelings."
"We won't be 'forever' doing that," prophesied the Mistress, unhappily.
Left alone the old dog paced slowly back to his cave. The day was hot.His massive coat was a burden. Life was growing more of a problem thanof old it had been. Also, from time to time, lately, his heart didqueer things that annoyed Lad. At some sudden motion or undue exertionit had a new way of throbbing and of hammering against his ribs soviolently as to make him pant.
Lad did not understand this. And, as with most things he did notunderstand, it vexed him. This morning, for example,--the heat of theday and the fatigue of his ramble down through the rose garden to thelake and back, had set it to thumping painfully. He was glad to lie atpeace in his beloved cave, in the cool music-room; and sleep away thehours until his deities should return from that miserable dog-show. Heslept.
And so an hour wore on; and then another and another.
At the show, the Mistress developed one of her sick headaches. She saidnothing of it. But the Master saw the black shadows grow, under hereyes; and the color go out of her face; and he noted the littlepain-lines around her mouth. So, as soon as the collie judging wasover, he made her get into the car; and he drove her home, meaning toreturn to Hawthorne in time for the afternoon judging of specials andof variety classes.
Meanwhile, as the morning passed, Lad was roused from his fitfulold-age slumber by the sound of crying. Into his dreams seeped thedistressing sound. He woke; listened; got up painfully and startedtoward the front door.
Halfway to the door, his brain cleared sufficiently for him torecognize the voice that had awakened him. And his leisurely walkmerged into a run.
Ruloff and Sonya had been working all morning in the peach orchard. Tothe child's chagrin, Lad was nowhere in sight. Every time she passedthe house she loitered as long as she dared, in hope of getting aglimpse of him.
"I wonder where Laddie is," she ventured, once, as her father wasfilling a basket for her to carry.
"The dogs have gone to a silly show," grunted Ruloff, piling thebasket. "The superintendent told me, yesterday. To waste a whole daywith dogs! Pouf! No wonder the world is poor! Here, the basket is full.Jump!"
Sonya picked up the heavy load--twice as big as usual were the basketsgiven her to carry, now that the interfering Master and thesuperintendent were not here to forbid--and started
laboriously for thehouse.
Her back ached with weariness. Yet, in the absence of her protectors,she dared not complain or even to allow herself the luxury of walkingslowly. So, up the hill, she toiled; at top speed. Ruloff had finishedfilling another basket, and he prepared to follow her. This completedthe morning's work. His lunch-pail awaited him at the barn. With nobodyto keep tabs on him, he resolved to steal an extra hour of time, inhonor of Labor Day--at his employer's expense.
Sonya pattered up the rise and around to the corner of the house.There, feeling her father's eye on her, as he followed; she tried tohasten her staggering steps. As a result, she stumbled against theconcrete walk. Her bare feet went from under her.
Down she fell, asprawl; the peaches flying in fifty directions. She hadcut her knee, painfully, against the concrete edge. This, and theknowledge that Ruloff would most assuredly punish her clumsiness, madeher break out in shrill weeping.
Among the cascaded peaches she lay, crying her eyes out. Up the hilltoward her scrambled Ruloff; basket on shoulder; yelling abuse betterfitted for the ears of a balky mule than for those of a hurt child.
"Get up!" he bawled. "Get up, you worthless little cow! If you'vespoiled any of those peaches or broke my basket, I'll cut the flesh offyour bones."
Sonya redoubled her wailing. For, she recognized a bumpy substancebeneath her as the crushed basket. And these baskets belonged toRuloff; not to the Place.
For the accidental breaking of far less worthwhile things, at home, sheand her brothers and sisters had often been thrashed most unmercifully:Her lamentations soared to high heaven. And her father's running feetsounded like the tramp of Doom.
There is perhaps no other terror so awful as that of an ill treatedchild at the approach of punishment. A man or woman, menaced by dangerfrom law or from private foe, can either fight it out or run away fromit. But there is no hiding place for a child from a brute parent. Thepunishment is as inevitable and as fearsome as from the hand of God.
No; there is no other terror so awful. And, one likes to think, thereis no other punishment in the next world so severe as that meted out tothe torturers of little children. For this hope's basis there is thesolemn warning voiced by the All-pitying Friend of children;--a threatwhich, apparently, was unfamiliar to Ruloff.
Down upon the weepingly prostrate Sonya bore the man. As he came towardher, he ripped off the leathern belt he wore. And he brandished it bythe hole-punch end; the brass buckle singing ominously about his head.Then, out from the house and across the wide veranda flashed a gianttawny shape.
With the fierce speed of his youngest days, Lad cleared the porch andreached the crying child. In the same instant he beheld the advancingRuloff; and the wise old brain read the situation at a glance.
Stopping only to lick the tear-streaked little face, Lad bounded infront of Sonya and faced the father. The collie's feeble old body wastense; his eyes blazed with indignant fury. His hackles bristled. Theyellowed and useless teeth glinted from beneath back-writhed lips. Forall his age, Lad was a terrible and terrifying figure as he stood guardover the helpless waif.
Ruloff hesitated an instant, taken aback by the apparition. Sonyaceased shrieking. Lad was here to protect her. Over her frightened soulcame that former queer sense of safety. She got up, tremblingly, andpressed close to the furry giant who had come to her rescue. She glareddefiantly up at Ruloff.
Perhaps it was this glare; perhaps it was the knowledge that Lad wasvery old and the sight of his worn-down teeth; perhaps it was the needof maintaining his hold of fear over the rebellious child. At allevents, Ruloff swung aloft the belt once more and strode toward thetwo; balancing himself for a kick at the thundrously growling dog.
The kick did not land. For, even as Sonya cried out in new terror, Ladlaunched himself at the Slav.
All unprepared for the clash, and being an utter coward at heart--if hehad a heart--the father reeled back, under the impact. Losing hisbalance, he tumbled prone to earth.
By the time his back struck ground, Lad was upon him; raveninguselessly at the swarthy throat.
But, yelling with fright, Ruloff fended him off; and twisted andwrithed out of reach; bunching his feet under him and, in a second,staggering up and racing for the shelter of the nearest tree.
Up the low-stretching branches the man swarmed, until he was well outof reach. Then, pausing in his climb, he shook his fist down at thecollie, who was circling the tree in a vain attempt to find some way ofclimbing it.
Chattering, mouthing, gibbering like a monkey, Ruloff shook an impotentfist at the dog that had treed him; and squalled insults at him and atthe hysterically delighted child.
Sonya rushed up to Lad, flinging her arms around him and trying to kisshim. At her embrace, the collie's tension relaxed. He turned his backon the jabbering Ruloff, and looked pantingly up into the child'sexcited face.
Then, whimpering a little under his breath, he licked her cheek; andmade shift to wag his plumed tail in reassurance. After which, havingrouted the enemy and done what he could to comfort the rescued, Laddiemoved heavily over to the veranda.
For some reason he was finding it hard to breathe. And his heart wasdoing amazing things against his ribs. He was very tired--very drowsy.He wanted to finish his interrupted nap. But it was a long way into thehouse. And a spot on the veranda, under the wide hammock, promisedcoolness. Thither he went; walking more and more slowly.
At the hammock, he looked back: Ruloff was shinnying down from thetree; on the far side. All the fight, all the angry zest for torturing,seemed to have gone out of the man. Without so much as glancing towardSonya or the dog, he made his way, in a wide detour, toward the barnand lunch.
Sonya ran up on the veranda after Lad. As he laid himself heavily down,under the hammock, she sat on the floor beside him; taking his head inher lap, stroking its silken fur and beginning to sing to him in thathigh-pitched crooning little voice of hers.
Laddie loved this. And he loved the soft caress of her hand. It soothedhim to sleep.
It was good to sleep. He had just undergone more vehement exertion andexcitement than had been his for many a long month. And he had earnedhis rest. It was sweet to doze like this--petted and sung to.
It was not well to exercise body and emotions as he had just done. Ladrealized that, now;--now that it was all over and he could rest. Rest!Yes, it was good to rest,--to be smoothed and crooned at. It was thusthe Mistress had stroked and crooned to him, so many thousand times.And always Lad had loved it.
It was well to be at home and to be sinking so pleasantly to sleep;here at the Place he had guarded since before he could remember--thePlace where he and the Mistress and the Master had had such splendidtimes; where he and his long-dead mate, Lady, had romped; where he hadplayed with and trained his fiery little son, Wolf; and where everyinch of the dear land was alive with wonderful memories to him.
He had had a full, happy, rich life. And now, in its twilight, rest wasas grateful as action once had been.
The morning air was warm and it was heavy with flower and field,scents; and with the breath of the forests where so often Lad had ledthe tearing run of the collie pack and in whose snowy depths he oncehad fought for his life against Wolf and the huge crossbreed, Rex. Thatwas ever so long ago.
The Mistress and the Master were coming home. Lad knew that. He couldnot have told how he knew it. In earlier years, he had known their carwas bringing them home to him, while it was still a mile or moredistant from the Place;--had known and had cantered forth to meet it.
He was too tired, just now, to do that. At least, until he had sleptfor a moment or two. Always, until now, the Mistress and the Master hadbeen first, with Lad. Now, for some odd reason, sleep was first.
And he slept;--deeply, wearily.
Presently, as he slept, he sighed and then quivered a little. Afterthat, he lay still. The great heart, very quietly, had stopped beating.
Into the driveway, from the main road, a furlong above, rolled thehomecoming car. At si
ght of it, Sonya started up. She was not certainhow the car's occupants would take her preempting of the veranda intheir absence. Letting Lad's head gently down to the floor, she slippedaway.
To the barn she went, ignorant that her father had not returned to theorchard. She wanted to get herself into a more courageous frame of mindbefore meeting Ruloff. By experience she judged he would make her pay,and pay dear, for the fright the collie had given him.
Into the barn she ran, shutting fast its side door behind her. Then,midway across the dusky hay-strewn space, she came to a gasping stop.Ruloff had risen from a box on the corner, had set down his lunch pail,moved between her and the door and yanked off his brass-buckled belt.
The child was trapped. Here there was no earthly chance for escape.Here, too, thanks to the closed door, Laddie could not come to her aid.In palsied dread, she stood shaking and sobbing; as the man walkedsilently toward her.
Ruloff's flat face widened in a grin of anticipation. He had a bigscore to pay. And he was there to pay it. The fear of the dog was stillupon him; and the shame that this child, the cause of all hishumiliation, should have seen him run yelling up a tree. It would takea mighty good flogging to square that.
Sonya cried out, in mortal terror, at his first step. Then--probablyonly in her hysterical imagination, though afterward she vowed it hadactually happened--came rescue.
Distinctly, against her quivering side, she felt the pressure of a warmfurry bulk. Into her paralyzed hand a reassuring cold muzzle wasthrust. And, over her, came a sense of wonderful safety from all harm.Facing her father with a high-pitched loud laugh of genuine courage,she shrilled:
"You don't dare touch me! You don't dare lay one finger on me!"
And she meant it. Her look and every inflection of the defiant highvoice proved she meant it; proved it to the dumfounded Ruloff, in a waythat sent funny little shivers down his spine.
The man came to a shambling halt; aghast at the transfigured littlewisp of humanity who confronted him in such gay fearlessness.
"Why don't I dare?" he blustered, lifting the brass-buckled weaponagain.
"You don't dare to!" she laughed, wildly. "You don't dare, because youknow he'll kill you, This time he won't just knock you down. He'll KILLyou! He'll never let you hit me again. I know it. He's HERE! You don'tdare touch me! You won't ever dare touch me! He--"
She choked, in her shout of weird exultation. The man, ridden by hisracial superstition, stared open-mouthed at the tiny demon whoscreeched defiance at him.
And, there, in the dim shadows of the barn, his overwrought fancyseemed to make out a grim formless Thing, close at the child's side;crouching in silent menace.
The heat of the day--the shock of seeing Lad appear from nowhere andstand thus, by the veranda, a few minutes earlier--these and theonce-timid Sonya's confident belief in Lad's presence,--all wrought onthe stupid, easily-thrilled mind of the Slav.
"The werewolf!" he babbled; throwing down the belt, and bolting outinto the friendly sunlight.
"The werewolf! I--I saw it! I--at least--God of Russia, what DID I see?What did SHE see?"
Over a magnificent lifeless body on the veranda bent the two who hadloved Lad best and whom he had served so worshipfully for sixteenyears. The Mistress's face was wet with tears she did not try to check.In the Master's throat was a lump that made speech painful. For thetenth time he leaned down and laid his fingers above the still heart ofthe dog; seeking vainly for sign of fluttering.
"No use!" he said, thickly, harking back by instinct to ahalf-remembered phrase. "The engine has broken down."
"No," quoted the sobbing Mistress, wiser than he. "'The engineer hasleft it.'"
THE END
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