HIS DOG

by

ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE

1922

CONTENTS

 I. The Derelict II. The Battle III. The Ordeal IV. The Choice

CHAPTER I. 

The Derelict

Link Ferris was a fighter. Not by nature, nor by choice, but to keepalive. 

His battleground covered an area of forty acres--broken, scrubby, uncertain side-hill acres, at that. In brief, a worked-out farm amongthe mountain slopes of the North Jersey hinterland; six miles from thenearest railroad. 

The farm was Ferris's, by right of sole heritage from his father, aCivil-War veteran, who had taken up the wilderness land in 1865 andwho, for thirty years thereafter, had wrought to make it pay. At bestthe elder Ferris had wrenched only a meager living from the light androck-infested soil. 

The first-growth timber on the west woodlot for some time had stavedoff the need of a mortgage; its veteran oaks and hickories grimlygiving up their lives, in hundreds, to keep the wolf from the door oftheir owner. When the last of the salable timber was gone Old ManFerris tried his hand at truck farming, and sold his wares from a wagonto the denizens of Craigswold, the new colony of rich folk, four milesto northward. 

But to raise such vegetables and fruits as would tempt the eyes and thepurses of Craigswold people it was necessary to have more than merezeal and industry. Sour ground will not readily yield sweet abundance, be the toiler ever so industrious. Moreover, there was large andgrowing competition, in the form of other huckster routes. 

And presently the old veteran wearied of the eternal uphill struggle. He mortgaged the farm, dying soon afterward. And Link, his son, wasleft to carry on the thankless task. 

Link Ferris was as much a part of the Ferris farm as was the giantbowlder in the south mowing. He had been born in the paintless shackwhich his father had built with his own rheumatic hands. He had workedfor more than a quarter century, in and out of the hill fields and theramshackle barns. From babyhood he had toiled there. Scant had been thechances for schooling, and more scant had been the opportunities foroutside influence. 

Wherefore, Link had grown to a wirily weedy and slouching manhood, almost as ignorant of the world beyond his mountain walls as were anyof his own "critters. " His life was bounded by fruitless labor, variedonly by such sleep and food as might fit him to labor the harder. 

He ate and slept, that he might be able to work. And he worked, that hemight be able to eat and sleep. Beyond that, his life was as barren asa rainy sea. 

If he dreamed of other and wider things, the workaday grind speedilyset such dreams to rout. When the gnawing of lonely unrest was tooacute for bovine endurance--and when he could spare the time or themoney--he was wont to go to the mile-off hamlet of Hampton and thereget as nearly drunk as his funds would permit. 

It was his only surcease. And as a rule, it was a poor one. For seldomdid he have enough ready money to buy wholesale forgetfulness. Moreoften he was able to purchase only enough hard cider or fuseloil whiskyto make him dull and vaguely miserable. 

It was on his way home one Saturday night from such a rudimentarydebauch at Hampton that his Adventure had its small beginning. 

For a half mile or so of Link's homeward pilgrimage--before he turnedoff into the grass-grown, rutted hill trail which led to his farm--hisway led along a spur of the state road which linked New York City withthe Ramapo hill country. 

And here, as Link swung glumly along through the springtide dusk, hisears were assailed by a sound that was something between a sigh and asob--a sound as of one who tries valiantly to stifle a whimper of sharppain. 

Ferris halted, uncertain, at the road edge; and peered about him. Againhe heard the sound. And this time he located it in the long grass ofthe wayside ditch. The grass was stirring spasmodically, too, as withthe half-restrained writhings of something lying close to earth there. 

Link struck a match. Shielding the flame, he pushed the tangle of grassto one side with his foot. 

There, exposed in the narrow space thus cleared and by the narrowerradius of match flare, crouched a dog. 

The brute was huddled in a crumpled heap, with one foreleg stuckawkwardly out in front of him at an impossible angle. His tawny mass ofcoat was mired and oil streaked. In his deep-set brown eyes burned thefires of agony. 

Yet, as he looked up at the man who bent above him, the dog's gaze wasneither fierce nor cringing. It held rather such an expression as, Dumas tells us, the wounded Athos turned to D'Artagnan--the aspect ofone in sore need of aid, and too proud to plead for it. 

Link Ferris had never heard of Dumas, nor of the immortal musketeer. None the less, he could read that look. And it appealed to him, as nohowl of anguish could have appealed. He knelt beside the suffering dogand fell to examining his hurts. 

The dog was a collie--beautiful of head, sweepingly graceful of line, powerful and heavy coated. The mud on his expanse of snowy chest frilland the grease on his dark brown back were easy to account for, even toLink Ferris's none-too-keen imagination. 

Link, in his own occasional trudges along this bit of state road, hadoften seen costly dogs in the tonneaus of passing cars. He had seenseveral of them scramble frantically to maintain their footing on theslippery seats of such cars; when chauffeurs took the sharp curve, justahead, at too high speed. He had even seen one Airedale flung bodilyfrom a car's rear seat at that curve, and out into the roadway; where aclose-following motor had run over and killed it. 

This collie, doubtless, had had such a fall; and, unseen by the frontseat's occupants, had struck ground with terrific force--a force thathad sent him whirling through mud and grease into the ditch, with abroken front leg. 

How long the beast had lain there Link had no way of guessing. But thedog was in mortal agony. And the kindest thing to do was to put him outof his pain. 

Ferris groped around through the gloom until, in the ditch, his fingersclosed over a ten-pound stone. One smashing blow on the head, with thismissile, would bring a swift and merciful end to the sufferer'stroubles. 

Poising the stone aloft, Link turned back to where the dog lay. Standing over the victim, he balanced the rock and tensed his musclesfor the blow. The match had long since gone out, but Link'sdusk-accustomed vision could readily discern the outlines of thecollie. And he made ready to strike. 

Then--perhaps it was the drink playing tricks with Ferris's mind--itseemed to him that he could still see those deep-set dark eyes staringup at him through the murk, with that same fearless and yet piteouslook in their depths. It was a look that the brief sputter ofmatch-light had photographed on Link's brain. 

"I--I ain't got the heart to swat you while you keep lookin' that wayat me, " he muttered half-aloud, as if to a human companion. "Jes' youturn your head the other way, pup! It'll be over quick, an' easy. "

By the faint light Link could see the dog had not obeyed the order toturn his head. But at the man's tone of compassion the great plumytail began to thump the ground in feeble response. 

"H'm!" grunted Link, letting the stone drop to the road, "got nerve, too, ain't you, friend? 'Tain't every cuss that can wag his tail whenhis leg's bust. "

Kneeling down again he examined the broken foreleg more carefully. Gentle as was his touch, yet Link knew it must cause infinite torture. But the dog did not flinch. He seemed to understand that Ferris meantkindly, for he moved his magnificent head far enough to lick the man'shand softly and in gratitude. 

The caress had an odd effect on the loveless Ferris. It was the firstvoluntary mark of affection he had encountered for longer than he likedto remember. It set old memories to working. 

The Ferris farm, since Link's birth, had been perhaps the only home inall that wild region which did not boast a dog of some kind. Link'sfather had had an inborn hatred of dogs. He would not allow one on theplace. His overt excuse was that they killed sheep and worried cattle, and that he could not afford to risk the well-being of his scanty hoardof stock. 

Thus, Link had grown to manhood with no dog at his heels, and withoutknowing the normal human's love for canine chumship. 

The primal instinct, long buried, stirred within him now; at touch ofthe warm tongue on his calloused hand and at sound of that friendlytail wagging in the dry grass. Ashamed of the stirrings in him, hesought to explain them by reminding himself that this was probably avaluable animal and that a reward might be offered for his return. Inwhich case Link Ferris might as well profit by the cash windfall asanyone else. 

Taking off his coat, Ferris spread it on the ground. Then, lifting thestricken collie as gently as he could, he deposited him on the coat androlled its frayed edges about him. After which he picked up the swathedinvalid and bore him home. 

During the mile trudge the collie's sixty pounds grew unbearably heavy, to the half-drunk Ferris. More than once he was minded to set down hisburden and leave the brute to his fate. 

But always the tardy realization that the journey was more painful tothe dog than to himself gave Link a fresh grip on his determination. And at last, --a long and tiring last, --they reached the tumble-downfarmhouse where Link Ferris kept bachelor's hall. 

Laying his patient on the kitchen table, Link lighted a candle and wentin search of such rude appliances as his father had been wont to keepin store for any of the farm's animals that might be injured. 

Three times as a lad Link had seen his father set the broken leg of asheep, and once he had watched the older man perform a like office fora yearling heifer whose hind leg had become wedged between twobrookside stones and had sustained a compound fracture. From Civil Warhospital experience the father had been a deft bonesetter. Andfollowing his recollection of the old man's methods, Link himself hadlater set the broken leg of one of his lambs. The operation had been asuccess. He resolved now to duplicate it. 

Slowly and somewhat clumsily he went to work at the injured dog. Thecollie's brave patience nerved him to greater tenderness and care. Aveterinary would have made neater work of the bonesetting, but hardlycould have rendered the job more effective. 

When the task was achieved Link brought his patient a bowl of coldwater--which the collie drank greedily--and some bread and meat scrapswhich the feverish patient would not touch. 

As he worked at his bonesetting task, Ferris had more chance to studyhis new acquisition. The dog was young--probably not more than twoyears old. The teeth proved that. He wore a thin collie collar with noinscription on its silver band. 

Even to Link's inexperienced eye he was an animal of high breeding andof glorious beauty. Link told himself he would perhaps get as much asten dollars for the return of so costly a pet. And he wondered why thegolden prospect did not seem more alluring. 

Three times in the night Link got up to give the collie fresh water andto moisten and re-adjust the bandages. And, every time, the sight ofhis rescuer would cause the dog's tail to thump a joyous welcome andwould fill the dark eyes with a loving gratitude which went straight toFerris's lonely heart. 

In the morning the dog was prevailed upon to lap a saucer of warm milk, and even to nibble at a crust of soaked bread. Link was ashamed of hisown keen and growing interest in his find. For the first time herealized how bleakly lonesome had been his home life, since the deathof his father had left him solitary. 

There was a mysteriously comforting companionship in the dog'spresence. Link found himself talking to him from time to time as to afellow human. And the words did not echo back in eerie hollowness fromthe walls, as when he had sometimes sought to ease his desolation bytalking aloud to himself. 

He was embarrassed by his general ignorance of dogs, and by hisignorance of this particular dog's name. He sought to learn what thecollie had been called; by trying one familiar dog name after another. But, to such stand-by cognomens as Rover, Tige, Fido, Ponto, Shep andthe rest, the patient gave no further sign of recognition than afriendly wagging of his plumed tail. And he wagged it no moreinterestedly for one name than for another. 

So Ferris ceased from the effort, and decided to give his pet abrand-new name for such brief space as they should be housemates. Afterlong deliberation he hit upon the name "Chum, " as typical of the oddfriendship that was springing to life between the dog and himself. Andhe planned to devote much time to teaching the collie this name. 

But, to his surprise, no such tedious period of instruction wasnecessary. In less than a single day Chum knew his name, --knew it pastall doubt. 

Link was amazed at such cleverness. For three solid months, at onetime, he had striven to teach his horse and his cows and a few of hissheep to respond to given names. And at the end of the course ofpatient tutelage he had been morbidly certain that not one of hissolemn-eyed pupils had grasped the lessons. 

It was surprisingly pleasant to drop in at the kitchen door nowadays, in intervals between chores or at the day's end, and be greeted by thatglad glint of the eye and the ecstatic pounding of the wavy tailagainst the floor. It was still pleasanter to see the gaze of wistfuladoration that strengthened daily as Chum and his new master grewbetter and better acquainted. 

Pleasantest of all was it to sit and talk to the collie in theonce-tedious evenings, and to know that his every word was appreciatedand listened to with eager interest, even if the full gist of the talkitself did not penetrate to the listener's understanding. 

Link Ferris, for the first time in his life, had a dog. Incidentally, for the first time in his life, he had an intimate friend--something ofwhose love and loyalty he waxed increasingly sure. And he was happy. 

His brighter spirits manifested themselves in his farm work, transforming drudgery into contentment. And the farm began, in smallways, to show the effects of its owner's new attitude toward labor. 

The day after he found Chum, Link had trudged to Hampton; and, there, had affixed to the clapboards of the general store a bit of paperwhereon he had scrawled:

"Found-One white and brown bird dog with leg broken. Owner can havesame by paying a reward. "

On his next huckster trip to Craigswold he pinned a similar sign to thebulletin board of that rarefied resort's post-office. And he waited forresults. 

He did more. He bought two successive copies of the county's dailypaper and scanned it for word of a missing dog. But in neither copy didhe find what he sought. 

True, both editions carried display advertisements which offered aseventy-five dollar reward for information leading to the return of a"dark-sable-and-white collie lost somewhere between Hohokus andSuffern. "

The first time he saw this notice Link was vaguely troubled lest itmight refer to Chum. He told himself he hoped it did. For seventy-fivedollars just now would be a godsend. And in self-disgust he choked backa most annoying twinge of grief at thought of parting with the dog. 

Two things in the advertisement puzzled him. In the first place, asChum was longhaired and graceful, Link had mentally classified him asbelonging to the same breed as did the setters which accompaniedhunters on mountain rambles past his farm in the autumns. Being whollyunversed in canine lore, he had, therefore, classified Chum as a "birddog". The word "collie", if ever he had chanced to hear it before, carried no meaning to him. 

Moreover, he did not know what "sable" meant. He asked Dominie Jansen, whom he met on the way home. And the dominie told him "sable" wasanother name for "black. " Jansen went on to amplify the theme, dictionary-fashion, by quoting a piece of sacred poetry about "thesable wings of night. "

A great load was off Link's heart. Chum, most assuredly, was not blackand white. So the advertisement could not possibly refer to him. Thereverend gentleman, not being a dog fancier, of course had no means ofknowing that "sable", in collie jargon, means practically every shadeof color except black or gray or white. 

Link was ashamed of his own delight in finding he need not give up hispet--even for seventy-five dollars. He tried to recall his father'sinvectives against dogs, and to remind himself that another mouth tofeed on the farm must mean still sharper poverty and skimping. Butlogic could not strangle joy, and life took on a new zest for thelonely man. 

By the time Chum could limp around on the fasthealing foreleg, he andLink had established a friendship that was a boon to both and a starkastonishment to Ferris. 

Link had always loved animals. He had an inborn "way" with them. Yethis own intelligence had long since taught him that his "farm critters"responded but dully to his attempts at a more perfect understanding. 

He knew, for example, that the horse he had bred and reared and hadtaught to come at his call, would doubtless suffer the first passingstranger to mount him and ride him away, despite any call from hislifelong master. He knew that his presence, to the cattle and sheep, meant only food or a shift of quarters; and that an outsider coulddrive or tend them as readily as could he on whose farm they had beenborn. Their possible affection for him was a hazy thing, based solelyon what he fed them and on their occasional mild interest in beingpetted. 

But with Chum it was all different. The dog learned quickly his newmaster's moods and met them in kind. The few simple tricks Link soughtto teach him were grasped with bewildering ease. There was a humanquality of sympathy and companionship which radiated almost visiblyfrom Chum. His keen collie brain was forever amazing Ferris by itsflashes of perception. The dog was a revelation and an endless sourceof pleasure to the hermit-farmer. 

When Chum was whole of his hurt and when the injured leg had knit sofirmly that the last trace of lameness was gone, Link fell to recallinghis father's preachments as to the havoc wrought by dogs upon sheep. Hecould not afford to lose the leanest and toughest of his little sheepflock--even as price for the happiness of owning a comrade. Linkpuzzled sorely over this. 

Then one morning it occurred to him to put the matter up to Chumhimself. Hitherto he had kept the dog around the house, except on theirdaily walks; and he had always tied him when driving the sheep to orfrom pasture. This morning he took the collie along when he went out torelease the tiny flock from their barnyard fold and send them out tograze. 

Link opened the fold gate, one hand on Chum's collar. Out billowed thesheep in a ragged scramble. Chum quivered with excitement as the woollycatapults surged past him. Eagerly he looked up into his master's face, then back at the tumbling creatures. 

"Chum!" spoke Ferris sharply. "Leave 'em be! Get that? LEAVE 'EM BE!"

He tightened his hold on the collar as he gave the command. Chum ceasedto quiver in eagerness and stood still, half puzzled, half grieved bythe man's unwonted tone. 

The sheep, at sight and smell of the dog, rushed jostlingly from theirpen and scattered in every direction, through barnyard and garden andnearer fields. Bleating and stampeding, they ran. Link Ferris blinkedafter them, and broke into speech. Loudly and luridly he swore. 

This stampede might well mean an hour's running to and fro before thescattered flock could be herded once more. An hour of panting andblasphemous pursuit, at the very outset of an overbusy day. And allbecause of one worthless dog. 

His father had been right. Link saw that--now that it was too late. Adog had no place on a farm. A poor man could not afford the sillyluxury of a useless pet. With whistle and call Ferris sought to checkthe flight of the flock. But, as every farmer knows, there is nothingelse on earth quite so unreasonable and idiotic as a scared sheep. Thefamiliar summons did not slacken nor swerve the stampede. 

The fact that this man had been their protector and friend made nodifference to the idiotic sheep. They were frightened. And, therefore, the tenuously thin connecting line between them and their human masterhad snapped. For the moment they were merely wild animals, and he was amember of a hostile race--almost as much as was the huge dog that hadcaused their fright. 

A wistful whine from Chum interrupted Link's volley of swearing. Thedog had noted his master's angry excitement and was seeking to offersympathy or help. 

But the reminder of Chum's presence did not check Link's wrath at theunconscious cause of the stampede. He loosed his hold on the collar, resolving to take out his rage in an unmerciful beating should the dogseek to chase the fleeing sheep. That would be at least an outlet forthe impotent wrath which Ferris sought to wreak on someone or something. 

"Go get 'em then, if you're so set on it!" he howled at the collie, waving a windmill arm at the fugitives. "Only I'll whale your measlyhead off if you do!"

The invitation and the gesture that went with it seemed to rouse somelong-dormant memory in the collie's soul. Like a flash he was off inflying pursuit of the sheep. Ferris, in the crazy rage which possessedhim, hoped Chum might bite at least one of the senseless creatures thatwere causing him such a waste of precious time and of grudged effort. 

Wherefore he did not call back the fastrunning collie. It would be timeenough to whale the daylight out of him--yes, and to rescue hispossible victims from death--when the dog should have overhauled thewoolly pests. So, in dour fury, Link watched the pursuit and the flight. 

Then, of a sudden, the black rage in Ferris's visage changed toperplexity, and slowly from that to crass wonderment. 

Six of the sheep had remained bunched in their runaway dash, while allthe rest had scattered singly. It was after this bleating sextet thatChum was now racing. 

Nor did he stop when he came up with them. Tearing past them he wheeledalmost in midair and slackened his pace, running transversely ahead ofthem and breaking into a clamor of barks. 

The six, seeing their foe menacing them from in front, came to ajumbled and slithering halt, preparing to break their formation and toscatter. But Chum would not have it so. 

Still threatening them with his thunderous bark he made little dashesat one or another of them that tried to break away; and he crowded backthe rest. 

As a result, there was but one direction the dazed sheep couldtake--the direction whence they had come. And, uncertainly, shamblingly, they made their way back toward the fold. 

Scarce had they been fairly started in their cowed progress when Chumwas off at a tangent, deserting his six charges and bearing down withexpress train speed on a stray wether that had paused in his escape tonibble at a line of early peas in the truck garden. 

At sight of the approaching collie the sheep flung up its head andbegan again to run. But the dog was in front of it, whichever way thepanic-stricken animal turned;--in every direction but one. And in thatdirection fled the fugitive. Nor did it stop in its headlong flightuntil it was alongside the six which Chum had first "turned". 

Pausing only long enough to round up one or two sheep which werebreaking loose from the bunch Chum was off again in headlong chase ofstill another and another and another stray. 

Link Ferris, in blank incredulity, stood gaping at the picture beforehim--staring at the tireless swiftness of his dog in turning back androunding up a scattered flock which Ferris himself could not havebunched in twenty times the space of minutes. Chum, he noted, did nottouch one of the foolish beasts. His bark and his zigzag dashes servedthe purpose, without the aid of teeth or of actual contact. 

Presently, as the dumbfounded man gazed, the last stray was added tothe milling, bleating bunch, and Chum was serenely trotting to and fro, driving back such of the sheep as sought to break loose from thehuddle. Terrified and trembling, but mastered, the flock coweredmotionless. The work was done. 

As in a dream Link tumbled toward the prisoners. His mind functioningsubconsciously, he took up his interrupted task of driving them topasture. The moment he succeeded in getting them into motion they brokeagain. And again, like a furry whirlwind, Chum was encircling them;chasing the strays into place. He saw, without being told, the coursehis master was taking, and he drove his charges accordingly. 

Thus, in far less time and in better order than ever before, the flockreached the rickety gateway of the stone-strewn sheep pasture andscuttled jostlingly in through it. 

Link shut the gate after them. Then, still in a daze, he turned on thedog. 

"Chum, " he said confusedly, "it don't make sense to me, not even yet. Idon't get the hang of it. But I know this much: I know you got tentimes the sense what I'VE got. Where you got it an' how you got it thegood Lord only knows. But you've got it. I--I was figgerin' on lickin'you 'most to death, a few minutes back. Chum. Honest, I was. I'm clean'shamed to look you in the face when I think of it. Say! Do me a favor, Chum. If ever I lift hand to lick you, jes' bite me and give mehydrophoby. For I'll sure be deservin' it. Now come on home!"

He patted the silken head of the jubilant dog as he talked, rumplingthe soft ears and stroking the long, blazed muzzle. He was sick atheart at memory of his recent murderous rage at this wonder-comrade ofhis. 

Chum was exultantly happy. He had had a most exhilarating ten minutes. The jolliest bit of fun he could remember in all his two years of life. The sight of those queer sheep--yes, and the scent of them, especiallythe scent--had done queer things to his brain; had aroused a millionsleeping ancestral memories. 

He had understood perfectly well his master's order that he leave themalone. And he had been disappointed by it. He himself had not knownclearly what it was he would have liked to do to them. But he had knownhe and they ought to have some sort of relationship. And then at thegesture and the snarled command of "Go get them!" some closed door inChum's mind had swung wide, and, acting on an instinct he himself didnot understand, he had hurled himself into the gay task of rounding upthe flock. 

So, for a thousand generations on the Scottish hills, had Chum'sancestors earned their right to live. And so through successivegenerations had they imbued their progeny with that accomplishmentuntil it had become a primal instinct. Even as the unbroken pointer ofthe best type knows by instinct the rudiments of his work in the fieldso will many a collie take up sheep herding by ancestral training. 

There had been nothing wonderful in Chum's exploit. Hundreds ofuntrained collies have done the same thing on their first sight ofsheep. The craving to chase and slay sheep is a mere perversion of thisolden instinct; just as the disorderly "flushing" and scattering ofbird coveys is a perversion of the pointer or setter instinct. Chum, luckily for himself and for his master's flock, chanced to run true toform in this matter of heredity, instead of inheriting his tendency inthe form of a taste for sheep murder. 

The first collie, back in prehistoric days, was the first dog with thewit to know his master's sheep apart from all other sheep. Perhaps thatis the best, if least scientific, theory of the collie's origin. 

But to Link Ferris's unsophisticated eyes the achievement was all butsupernatural, and it doubled his love for the dog. 

That afternoon, by way of experiment, Ferris took Chum along when hewent to drive the sheep back from pasture to the fold. By the time heand the dog were within a hundred yards of the pasture gate Chum beganto dance, from sheer anticipation; mincing sidewise on the tips of histoes in true collie fashion, and varying the dance by little rushesforward. 

Link opened the crazy gate. Waiting for no further encouragement thedog sped into the broad field and among the grazing sheep that weredistributed unevenly over the entire area of the lot. 

Ordinarily--unless the sheep were ready to come home--it was a matterof ten or fifteen minutes each evening for Link to collect them andstart them on their way. To-day, in less than three minutes, Chum hadthe whole flock herded and trotting through the opening, to the laneoutside. 

Nor, this time, did the sheep flee from him in the same panic dread asin the morning. They seemed to have learned--if indeed a sheep can everlearn anything--that Chum was their driver, not their enemy. 

From the fold Link as usual went to the woodlot where his five head oflean milch cattle were at graze. Three of the cows were waiting at thebars for him, but one heifer and a new-dry Holstein were hiddensomewhere in the recesses of the second-growth timber. 

The afternoon was hot; it had been a hot day. Link was tired. Hedreaded the labor of exploring ten acres of undergrowth for his twomissing cattle. An inspiration came to him. Pointing to the threestolidly waiting cows at the bars he waved his arm in the generaldirection of the lot and called on Chum. 

"Go find 'em! Bring 'em in!"

Almost before the words were spoken Ferris regretted them. He hated todim the luster of his dog's earlier exploits by giving him a job beyondhis skill. And this time Chum did not flash forward with his formerzest. He stood, ears cocked, glancing uncertainly from Link to thethree cows already waiting. 

Then, as he still peered doubtfully, one of the bovine trio took frightat the dog and trotted clumsily away toward the woods. Link gave chase. He had not gone three steps before Chum caught the idea. Whirling pastFerris he headed off the surprised, indignant cow, and by dint of aflurry of barks and dashes started her back toward the bars. 

Her bell jangled dolefully as she obeyed the noisy urge. And fromsomewhere among the bushes, two hundred yards away, a second cowbellsounded in answer. At this distant tinkle Chum evidently grasped themeaning of his master's earlier mandate. For he galloped away in thedirection of the sound. 

And presently, with much crashing of undergrowth, appeared therebellious heifer, driven on by Chum. After depositing her, sulky andplunging, at the bars, Chum vanished again--in apparent response toanother far-off bell jangle. And in three minutes more he was back atthe bars with the fifth cow. 

"Lucky one was a heifer an' the other one dry!" commented Link to thecollie, after petting him and praising him for the exploit. "I'll haveto learn you to drive milch cows easy an' quiet. You can't run 'em likeyou run sheep an' yearlin's. But apart from that, you sure done grand. You can lop off an hour a day of my work if I c'n send you reg'lar forthe critters. That ought to be worth the price of your keep, by itself. Now if I c'n learn you how to milk an' maybe how to mow--well, 'twouldn't be a hull lot queerer'n the stunts you done to-day!"

It was perhaps a week later that Link Ferris received his quarterlycheck from the Paterson Vegetable Market. These checks hitherto hadbeen the brightest spots in Link's routine. Not only did the money forhis hard-raised farm products mean a replenishing of the always scantlarder and an easing of the chronic fiscal strain between himself andthe Hampton general store's proprietor, but sometimes enough spare cashwas left over to allow Ferris to get very satisfactorily drunk. 

Since Chum's advent, the old gnawing of loneliness had not goaded Linkto the Hampton tavern. As a consequence, he had a dollar or two more onhand than was usual at such times. This wealth was swelled stillfurther by the fact that a boost in vegetable prices had fattened hisquarterly check beyond its wonted size. 

All this and his long abstinence seemed to call for a real celebration. And Link looked forward with a thrill of merry anticipation to thecoming of night. 

As soon as he could clear away his evening chores and swallow somesupper he fared forth to the village. This was going to be one of thosenights to date time from. Not a miserable half-jag, stopped inmid-career by lack of funds and of credit--a nipped-in-the-bud debauch, such as so often had sent him home cranky and unsatisfied and railingagainst poverty. No, this was going to be the real thing--a recordperformance, even for these pre-prohibition times. 

Ferris fed the collie and shut him into the kitchen, pending his ownreturn from Hampton. If Link were going to become blissfully andhelplessly drunk, as he had every hope of being, someone might takeadvantage of his condition to steal his precious dog. Therefore Chumwas best left safe at home. This Link explained very carefully to theinterestedly listening collie. And Chum, with head and brush a-droop, walked meekly into the kitchen at his master's behest. 

Link set off for the village, happy in the feeling that his home was sowell guarded and that he would find a loving friend waiting to welcomehim on his return. What with ready money and a real friend and theprospect of getting whole-souledly drunk the world was not such arotten place to live in after all!

As a rule, on these occasions, Ferris first went to the Hampton store. There he was wont to cash his check, pay his longstanding bill, orderhis new supplies--and then, with a free heart, sally forth to theHampton tavern. But to-night, having money in his pocket apart from thecheck, he decided to pay a preliminary call at the tavern, just by wayof warming up, before going on to the store. 

There were few people in the barroom at so early an hour of the eveningand on so early an evening of the week. Link nodded affably to one ortwo men he knew and bade them line up at the bar with him. After thesecond drink he prepared to leave. To the tavern's proprietor, who wasmildly surprised at the brevity of his call, Ferris explained that hewas going across to the store to get his check cashed and that he wouldbe back later. 

Whereat the proprietor kindly offered to save Link the journey bycashing the check for him; a suggestion Ferris gladly accepted. Hepassed the indorsed check across the bar and received for it acomfortably large wad of wilted greenbacks which he proceeded to internwith tender care in an inside pocket of his vest, where he moored themwith a safety-pin. Then he ordered another drink. 

But to this new order there was an instant demurrer. Two strangers, whohad been drinking at a corner table, bore down upon Link rightlovingly; and recalled themselves to his memory as companions of his ona quite forgotten debauch of a year or two back. 

Link did not at all remember either of the two. But then he oftenfailed to recall people he had met on a spree, and he did not like tohurt these cordial revelers' feelings by disclaiming knowledge of them. Especially when they told him merrily that, for this evening at least, his money was made of wood and that he must be their guest. 

Never before had he met with such wholesouled hospitality. One drinkfollowed another with gratifying speed. Once or twice Ferris madehalfhearted proffers to do some of the buying. But such hints seemed tohurt his hosts' feelings so cruelly that he forbore at last, andsuffered himself to drink entirely at their expense. 

They were much the nicest men Link had ever met. They flattered him. They laughed uproariously at his every witticism. They had a genius fornoting when his glass was empty. They listened with astonishedadmiration to his boastful recital of Chum's cleverness. One of them, who, it seemed, was an expert in dog lore, told him how to teach thecollie to shake hands and to lie down and to "speak. " They weremagnificent men, in every way. Link was ashamed to have forgotten hisearlier meetings with such paragons. 

But the call of duty never quite dies into silence. And finally Linkremembered he had still his store bill to pay and his supplies toorder. So he announced that he must go. The store, he knew, closed atnine. He looked up at the barroom clock. But its face was hazy and itseemed to have a great many hands. There was no use trying to learn thehour from so dissolute a timepiece. 

His two friends persuaded him to have one more drink. Then theyvolunteered to go across to the store with him. He left the tavern, with one of the two walking on either side of him. He was glad to be inthe center of the trio; for, as the night air struck him, he becameunaccountably dizzy. His friends' willing arms were a grand support tohis wavering legs. 

On the unlighted threshold of the tavern Link stumbled heavily oversomething--something that had been lying there and that sprang eagerlytoward him as he debouched from the doorway. The reason he stumbledover it was that the creature, which had bounded so rapturously towardhim, had come to a sharp halt at noting his condition. Thus, Ferrisstumbled over it; and would have fallen but for the aid of his friends. 

The single village street was pitch black. Not a light was to be seen. This puzzled Link; who had no means of knowing that the time was closeon midnight. He started toward the store. At least that was thedirection he planned to take. But when, at the end of five minutes, hefound he was outside the village and on a narrow road that bordered thelake, he saw his friends had mistaken the way. He stopped abruptly andtold them so. 

One of them laughed; as if Link had said something funny. The other didsomething quickly with one foot and one arm. Ferris's legs went fromunder him. The jar of his fall shook from him a fraction of hisdrunkenness, and it gave him enough sense to realize that the man whohad laughed was trying to unfasten the pinned inner pocket of thefallen man's vest. 

Now for years that pocket had been the secret repository of LinkFerris's sparse wealth. The intruder's touch awakened him to a drowsysense of peril. He thrust aside the fumbling hand and made a herculeaneffort to rise. 

At this show of resistance his two comrades, as by concerted signal, threw themselves upon him. With a yell of angry fright Link collapsedto earth under the dual impact. 

CHAPTER II. 

The Battle

He felt one of the men pinion his waving arms, while the other crouchedon his legs and proceeded to unpin the money pocket. Ferris struggledfor an instant in futile fury, trying to shout for help. The call wasstrangled in his throat. But the help came to him, none the less. 

Scarce three seconds had passed since the attempt to rob him had setLink into action and had wrung from him that yell of consternation. 

But in answer came a swirling patter of feet on the road, a snarl likea wolf's, a shape that catapulted through the dark. Sixty pounds offur-swathed dynamic muscle smote athwart the shoulders of the man whowas unfastening the cash pocket's pin. 

The impact hurled the fellow clean off his crouching balance and senthim sprawling, face downward, his outflung hands splashing in themargin of the lake. Before he could roll over or so much as stir, a setof white fangs met in his shoulder-flesh. And he testified to hisinjury by an eldritch screech of pain and terror that echoed far acrossthe water. 

His companion, rallying from the momentary shock, left Ferris andcharged at the prostrate thief's assailant. But Chum met him, with afierce eagerness, more than half way. 

A true collie--thanks to his strain of wolf bloodfights as does noother dog. What he lacks in stubborn determination he atones for byswiftness and by his uncanny brain power. 

A bulldog, for example, would have flown to his master's relief quiteas readily as did Chum. But a bulldog would have secured the firstconvenient hold and would have hung on to that hold, whether it were athis victim's throat or only on the slack of his trousers--until someoneshould hammer him into senselessness. 

Chum--collie-fashion--was everywhere at once, using his brain far morethan his flying jaws. Finding the grip in his foe's shoulder did notprevent the man from twisting round to grapple him, the collie shiftedthat grip with lightning speed, and with one of his gleaming eyeteethslashed his opponent's halfturned cheek from eye to chin. Then he boredstraight for the jugular. 

It was at this crisis that he sensed, rather than saw, the other manrushing at him. Chum left his fallen antagonist and whirled about toface the new enemy. As he was still turning, he sprang far to one side, in bare time to elude a swinging kick aimed at his head. 

Then, before the thief could recover the balance endangered by somighty a kick, the collie had whirled in and sunk his teeth deep in theman's calf. The bitten man let out a roar of pain, and smote wildly atthe dog's face with both swinging fists. 

Chum leaped back out of range, and then, with the same bewilderingspeed, flashed in again and buried his curved fangs in the nearest ofthe two flailing forearms. 

The first victim of the collie's attack was scrambling to his feet. Sowas Link Ferris. Sobered enough to recognize his beloved dog, he alsosaw the newrisen thief catch up a broken fence rail, brandish it aloftand charge upon the collie, who was still battling merrily with thesecond man. 

To Link it seemed that nothing could save Chum from a backbreaking blowfrom the huge club. Instinctively he ran at the wielder of theformidable weapon. Staggering and sick and two-thirds drunk, Ferris, nevertheless, made valiant effort to save the dog that was fighting sogallantly for him. 

His lurching rush carried him across the narrow road and to the lakeedge, barely in time to intercept the swinging sweep of the fence rail. It caught him glancingly across the side. And its force carried himclean off his none-too-steady feet. Down went Ferris--down andbackward. His body plunged noisily into the water. 

Chum had wheeled to face the rail's brandisher. But at sight of hismaster's sudden immersion in the lake, he quitted the fray. At topspeed the dog cleared the bank and jumped down into the water inpursuit of Ferris. 

It evidently dawned on both men at once that there had been a good dealof noise, for what was to have been a silent and decorous holdup. Alsothat a raging collie is not a pleasant foe. The racket might well drawinterference from outside. The dog was overhard to kill, and his biteswere murderous. The game had ceased to be worth the candle. By commonimpulse the pair took to their heels. 

Link Ferris, head down in the cold water, was strangling in his maudlinefforts to right himself. He dug both hands into the lake-bottom mudand strove to gain the surface. But the effort was too much for him. Asecond frantic heave had better results. And vaguely he knew why. 

For Chum had managed to get a firm hold on the shoulder of his master'scoat--twelve inches under water--and had braced himself with all hiswiry strength for a tug which should lift Ferris to the surface. 

This added leverage barely made Link's own struggle a success. Thehalf-drowned man regained his footing. Floundering waist-deep in water, he clambered up the steeply shelving bank to shore. There at the road'sedge he lay, gasping and sputtering and fighting for breath. 

Chum had been pulled under and out of his depth by Link's exertions. Now, coming to the surface, he swam to shore and trotted up the bank tothe road. Absurdly lank and small, with his soaking coat plasteredclose to his slim body, he stood over his prostrate master. 

The dog's quick glare up and down the road told him his foes were gone. His incredible sense of hearing registered the far-off pad-pad-pad offast-retreating human feet, and showed him the course the two men weretaking. He would have liked to give chase. It had been a goodfight--lively and exciting withal--and Chum wished he might carry itinto the enemies' own country. 

But his god was lying helpless at his feet and making queer sounds ofdistress. The dog's place was here. The joy of battle must be foregone. 

Solicitously Chum leaned over Ferris and sought to lick the sufferer'sface. As he did so his supersensitive nostrils were smitten by an odorwhich caused the collie to shrink back in visible disgust. The sickly, pungent smell of whisky on Ferris's labored breath nauseated Chum. Hestood, head recoiled, looking down at Link in bewilderment. 

There were many things, this night, which Chum did not understand. First of all, he had been grieved and offended that Ferris should havelocked him in the kitchen instead of taking him along as usual on hisevening stroll. It had been lonely in the unlighted kitchen. Link hadnot ordered the dog to stay there. He had simply shut Chum in and lefthim. 

So, tiring at last of solitude, the collie had leaped lightly out ofthe nearest window. The window had been open. Its thin mosquito netcovering had not served in the least as a deterrent to the departingChum. 

To pick up his master's trail--and to hold to it even when it mergedwith a score of others at the edge of the village--had been absurdlysimple. The trail had led to a house with closed doors. So, aftercircling the tavern to find if his master had gone out by any otherexit, Chum had curled himself patiently on the doorstep and had waitedfor Link to emerge. 

Several people had come in and out while he lay there. But all of themhad shut the door too soon for him to slip inside. 

At last Ferris had appeared between his two new friends. Chum had beenfriskily happy to see his long-absent god again. He had sprung forwardto greet Link. Then, his odd collie sense had told him that for somereason this staggering and hiccuping creature was not the master whomhe knew and loved. This man was strangely different from the LinkFerris whom Chum knew. 

Puzzled, the dog had halted and had stood irresolute. As he stoodthere, Ferris had stumbled heavily over him, hurting the collie's ribsand his tender flesh; and had meandered on without so much as a word ora look for his pet. 

Chum, still irresolute and bewildered, had followed at a distance theswaying progress of the trio, until Link's yell and the attack hadbrought him in furious haste to Ferris's rescue. 

Link presently recovered enough of his breath to enable him to move. The ducking in icy water had cleared his bemused brain. Approximatelysober, he got to his feet and stood swaying and dazed. As he rose, hisgroping hand closed over something cold and hard that had fallen to theground beside him. And he recognized it. So he picked it up and stuckit into his pocket. 

It was a pint flask of whisky--one he had received as a farewell giftfrom his two friends as the three had left the tavern. It had been aneasy gift for the men to make. For they were confidently certain ofrecovering it a few minutes later when they should go through theirvictim's clothes. Dawning intelligence told Link he had not comethrough the adventure very badly, after all--thanks to Chum. Ferriswell understood now why the thieves had picked acquaintance with him atsight of his money, and why they had gotten him drunk. 

The memory of what he had escaped gave him a new qualm of nausea. Theloss of his cash would have meant suspended credit at the store and theleanest three months he had ever known. 

But soon the joy in his triumph wiped out this thought. 

The native North Jersey mountaineer has a peculiar vein of cunningwhich makes him morbidly eager to get the best of anyone at all--evenif the victory brings him nothing worth while. 

Link Ferris had had an evening of limitless liquor. He still had a pintof whisky to take home. And it had cost him not a cent, except for hisfirst two rounds of drinks. 

He had had his spree. He still had all his check money. And he had aflask of whisky. True, he had been roughly handled. And he had had aducking in the lake. But those were his sole liabilities. They wereinsignificant by comparison to his assets. 

He grinned in smug self-gratulation. Then his eye fell on Chum, standing ten feet away, looking uncertainly at him. 

Chum! To Chum he owed it all! He owed the dog his money, perhaps hisvery life. Yes--as he rehearsed the struggle to get out of the lake--heowed the collie his life as well as his victory over the holdup men. ToChum!

A great wave of love and gratitude surged up in Ferris. He had asloppily idiotic yearning to throw his arms about the dog's furry neckand kiss him. But he steadied himself and chirped to the collie tocome nearer. Slowly, with queer reluctance, Chum obeyed. 

"Listen, " mumbled Link incoherently, "I saved you from dying from abust leg and hunger the night I fust met you, Chummie. An' tonight yousquared the bill by saving me from drownin'. But I'm still a whole lotin your debt, friend. I owe you for all the cash in my pocket an'--an'for a pint of the Stuff that Killed Father--an'--an' maybe for abeatin' that might of killed me. Chum, I guess God did a real day'swork when He built you. I--I--Let it go at that. Only I ain'tforgettin'. Nor yet I ain't li'ble to forget. Come on home. I'ma-gittin' the chatters!"

He had been stroking the oddly unresponsive dog's head as he spoke. Now, for the first time, Link realized that the night was cool, thathis drenched clothes were like ice on him, and that the cold and theshock reaction were giving him a sharp congestive chill. Walking fastto restore circulation to his numbed body he made off for his distantfarmhouse, Chum pattering along at his heels. 

The rapid walk set him into a glow. But by the time he had reached homeand had stripped off his wet clothes and swathed himself in a roughblanket, his racked nerves reasserted themselves. He craved a drink--anumber of drinks--to restore his wonted poise. Lighting the kitchenlamp, he set the whisky bottle on the table and put a thick tumbleralongside it. Chum was lying at his master's feet. In front of Ferriswas a pint of good cheer. The lamplight made the kitchen bright andcozy. Link felt a sense of utter well-being pervade him. 

This was home--this was the real thing. Three successive and man-sizedrinks of whisky presently made it seem more and more the real thing. They made all things seem possible, and most things highly desirable. Link wanted to sing. And after two additional drinks he gratified thistaste by lifting his voice in a hiccup-punctuated ditty addressed toone Jenny, whom the singer exhorted to wait till the clouds rolled by. 

He was following this appeal by a rural lyric which recited in somewhatwearisome tonal monotony the adventures of a Little Black Bull thatcame Over the Mountain, when he observed that Chum was no longer lyingat his feet. Indeed, the dog was in a far corner of the room, pressedclose to the closed outer door, and with crest and ruff a-droop. 

Puzzled by his pet's defection, Link imperiously commanded Chum toreturn to his former place. The collie, in most unwilling obedience, turned about and came slowly toward the drinker. 

Every line of Chum's splendid body told of reluctance to approach hismaster. The deep-set, dark eyes were eloquent of a frightened disgust. He looked at Ferris as at some loathely stranger. The glad light ofloyalty, which always had transfigured his visage when Link called tohim, was woefully lacking. Drunk as he was Ferris could not helpnoticing the change. And he marveled at it. 

"Whasser matter?" he demanded truculently. "What ails yer? C'm here, I'm tellin' you!"

He stretched out his hand in rough caress to the slowly approachingcollie. Chum shrank back from the touch as a child from a dose ofcastor oil. There was no fear now in his aspect. Only disgust and apoignant unhappiness. 

And, all suddenly, Link Ferris understood. 

He himself did not know how the knowledge came to him. A caninepsychologist might perhaps have told him that there is always an occulttelepathy between the mind of a thoroughbred dog and its master, apower which gives them a glimpse into each other's processes ofthought. But there was no such psychologist there to explain the thing. Nor did Link need it explained. It was enough for him that he knew. 

He knew, as by revelation, that his adoring dog now shunned him becauseLink was drunk. 

From the first, Chum's look of utter worship and his eagerly happyobedience had been a joy to Link. The subtly complete change in hisworshiper's demeanor jarred sharply on the man's raw nerves. He feltvaguely unclean--shamed. 

The contempt of such of his pious human neighbors as had passed him inthe road during his sprees had affected Link not at all. Nor now couldhe understand the queer feeling of humiliation that swept over him atsight of the horrified repugnance in the eyes of this mere brute beast. It roused him to a gust of hot vexation. 

"Shamed of me, are you?" he grunted fiercely. "A dirty four-leggedcritter's 'shamed of a he-man, hey? Well, we'll lick that out of you, dam' soon!"

Lurching to his feet, he snatched up a broom handle. He waved itmenacingly over the dog. Chum gave back not an inch. Under the threatof a beating he stood his ground, his brave eyes steadfast, and, lurking in their mystic depths, that same glint of sorrowful wonder anddisgust. 

Up whirled the broomstick. But when it fell it did not smite athwartthe shoulders of the sorrowing dog. Instead, it clattered harmlessly tothe board floor. And to the floor also slumped Link Ferris, his nerveall gone, his heart soggy with sudden remorse. 

To his knees thudded the man, close beside the collie. From Link'sthroat were bursting great strangled sobs which tortured his whole bodyand made his speech a tangled jumble that was not pretty to hear. 

"Chum!" he wailed brokenly, clutching the dog's huge ruff in both shakyhands. "Chum, old friend! Gawd forgive me! You saved me from drowndin'an' from goin' broke, this night! You been the only friend that evercared a hang if I was alive or dead! An'--an' I was goin' to lick you!I was goin' to lambaste you. Because I was a beastlier beast than YOUbe. I was goin' to do it because you was so much better than me thatyou was made sick by my bein' a hawg. An' I was mad at you fer it. I'm--oh, I'm shameder than you are! Chum! Honest to Gawd, I am! Won'tyou make friends again? PLEASE, Chum!"

Now, of course, this was a most ridiculous and maudlin way to talk. Moreover, no man belongs on his knees beside a dog, even though the manbe a sot and the dog a thoroughbred. In his calmer moments Link Ferriswould have known this. A high-bred collie, too, has no use for sloppyemotion, but shuns its exhibition well-nigh as disgustedly as he shunsa drunkard. 

Yet, for some illogical reason, Chum did not seek to withdraw hisaristocratic self from the shivering clutch of the repentant souse. Instead, the expression of misery and repugnance fled as if by magicfrom his brooding eyes. Into them in its place leaped a light of keensolicitude. He pressed closer to the swayingly kneeling man, and withupthrust muzzle sought to kiss the blubbering face. 

The whisky reek was as strong as ever. But something in Chum's soul wasstronger. He seemed to know that the maudlin Unknown had vanished, andthat his dear master was back again--his dear master who was ingrievous trouble and who must be comforted. 

Wherefore, the sickening liquor fumes no longer held him aloof fromLink. Just as the icy lake had not deterred him from springing into thewater after his drowning god, although, like most collies, Chum hatedto swim. 

Link, through his own nervous collapse, recognized the instant changein Chum's demeanor, and read it aright. It strengthened the old bondbetween himself and the dog. It somehow gave him a less scornfulopinion of himself. 

Presently he got to his feet, and with the collie at his side went backto the table, where stood the threeparts-empty flask. His face working, Link opened the window and poured what was left of the whisky out onthe ground. There was nothing dramatic about his action. Rather it wastinged by very visible regret. Turning back to Chum, he said sheepishly:

"There it goes. An' I ain't sayin' I'm tickled at wastin' such goodstuff. But--somehow I guess we've come to a showdown, Chum; you an' me. If I stick to booze, I'm li'ble to see you looking at me that queer wayan' sidlin' away from me all the time; till maybe at last you'd getplumb sick of me for keeps, an' light out. An'--I'd rather have YOUthan the booze, since I can't have both of you. Bein' only a dawg andnever havin' tasted good red liquor, you can't know what a big bouquetI'm a-throwin' at you when I say that, neither. I--Oh, let's call it aday and go to sleep. "

Next morning, in the course of nature, Link Ferris worked with asplitting headache. He carried it and a bad taste in his mouth, for thebest part of the day. 

But it was the last drink headache which marred his labor, all thatlong and happy summer. His work showed the results of the change. Sodid the meager hill farm. So did Link's system and his pocketbook. 

As he was a real, live human and not a temperance tract hero, therewere times when he girded bitterly at his self-enforced abstinence. Where were times, too--when he had a touch of malaria and again whenthe cutworms slaughtered two rows of his early tomatoes--when heyearned unspeakably for the solace of an evening at the Hampton tavern. 

He had never been a natural drinker. Like many a better man he haddrunk less for what he sought to get than for what he sought to forget. And with the departure of loneliness and the new interest in his home, he felt less the need for wet conviviality and for drugging his fits ofmelancholy. 

The memory of Chum's grieving repulsion somehow stuck in Ferris's mind. And it served as a brake, more than once, to his tavernward impulses. Two or three times, also, when Link's babyish gusts of destructive badtemper boiled to the surface at some setback or annoyance, much thesame wonderingly distressed look would creep into the collie'sglance--a look as of one who is revolted by a dear friend's failure toplay up to form. And to his own amused surprise, Ferris found himselftrying to curb these outbursts. 

To the average human, a dog is only a dog. To Ferris, this collie ofhis was the one intimate friend of his life. Unversed in the ways ofdogs, he overestimated Chum, of course, and valued his society and hisgood opinion far more highly than the average man would have done. Thus, perhaps, his desire to stand well in the dog's esteem had in itmore that was commendable than ludicrous. Or perhaps not. 

If the strange association did much for Link, it did infinitely morefor Chum. He had found a master who had no social interests in lifebeyond his dog, and who could and did devote all his scant leisurehours to association with that dog. Chum's sagacity and individualityblossomed under such intensive tutelage, as might that of a cleverchild who is the sole pupil of its teacher. 

Link did not seek to make a trick dog of his pet. He taught Chum toshake hands, to lie down, to "speak" and one or two more simpleaccomplishments. It was by talking constantly to the collie, as to afellow human, that he broadened the dog's intelligence. Chum grew toknow and to interpret every inflection of Ferris's voice, every simpleword he spoke and every gesture of his. 

Apart from mere good fellowship the dog was proving of great use on thefarm. Morning and night, Chum drove the sheep and the cattle to theirrespective pastures and then back to the barnyard at night. At theentrances to the pastures, now, Ferris had rigged up rude gates with"bar catch" fastenings--simple contrivances which closed by gravity andwhose bars the dog was readily taught to shove upward with his nose. 

It was thus a matter of only a few days to teach Chum to open or closethe light gates. This trick has been taught to countless collies, ofcourse, in Great Britain, and to many here. But Link did not know that. He felt like another Columbus or Edison, at his own genius in devisingsuch a scheme; and he felt an inordinate pride in Chum for learning thesimple exploit so quickly. 

Of old, Link had fretted at the waste of time in taking out the sheepand cows and in going for them at night. This dual duty was now a thingof the past. Chum did the work for him, and reveled in the excitementof it. Chum also--from watching Link perform the task twice--hadlearned to drive the chickens out of the garden patches whenever any ofthem chanced to stray thither, and to scurry into the cornfield withharrowing barks of ejection when a flock of crows hovered hungrilyabove the newly-planted crops. 

All of which was continual amusement to Chum, and a tremendous help tohis owner. 

Link, getting over his initial wonder at the dog's progress, began totake these accomplishments as a matter of course. Indeed, he wassometimes perplexed at the otherwise sagacious dog's limitations ofbrain. 

For example, Chum loved the fire on the chilly evenings such as creepover the mountain region even in midsummer. He would watch Linkreplenish the blaze with fresh sticks whenever it sank low. 

Yet, left to himself, he would let the fire go out, and he never knewenough to pick up a stick in his mouth and lay it on the embers. Thislack of reasoning powers in his pet perplexed Ferris. 

Link could not understand why the same wit which sent Chum half a mile, of his own accord, in search of one missing sheep out of the entireflock, should not tell him that a fire is kept alive by the putting ofwood on it. 

In search of some better authority on dog intelligence, Link paid hisfirst visit to Hampton's little public library. There, shamefacedly, heasked the boy in charge for some books about dogs. The youth lookedidly for a few minutes in a crossindex file. Then he brought forth atome called "The Double Garden, " written by someone who was evidentlyan Eyetalian or Polack or other foreigner, because he bore thegrievously un-American name of "Maeterlinck". 

"This is all I can find about dogs, " explained the boy, passing thelinen-jacketed little volume across the counter to Link. "First storyin it is an essay on 'Our Friend, the Dog, ' the index says. Want it?"

That evening, by his kitchen lamp, Ferris read laboriously the Belgianphilosopher's dog essay. He read it aloud--as he had taken to thinkingaloud--for Chum's benefit. And there were many parts of the immortalessay from which the man gleaned no more sense than did the collie. 

It began with a promising account of a puppy named Pelleas. But midwayit branched off into something else. Something Link could not make headnor tail of. Then, on second reading, bits of Maeterlinck's meaning, here and there, seeped into Ferris's bewilderedly groping intellect. 

He learned, among other things, that Man is all alone on earth; thatmost animals don't know he is here, and that the rest of them have nouse for him. That even flowers and crops will desert him and run againto wildness, if Man turns his back on them for a minute. So will hishorse, his cow and his sheep. They graft on him for a living, and theyhate or ignore him. 

The dog alone, Link spelled out, has pierced the vast barrier betweenhumans and other beasts, and has ranged himself, willingly andjoyously, on the side of Man. For Man's sake the dog will not onlystarve and suffer and lay down his life, but will betray his fellowquadrupeds. Man is the dog's god. And the dog is the only living mortalthat has the privilege of looking upon the face of his deity. 

All of which was doubtless very interesting, and part of which thrilledFerris, but none of which enlightened him as to a dog's uncanny wisdomin certain things and his blank stupidity in others. Next day Linkreturned the book to the library, no wiser than before, albeit with ahigher appreciation of his own good luck in being the god of onesplendid dog like Chum. 

July had drowsed into August, and August was burning its sultry waytoward September. Link's quarterly check from the Paterson Marketarrived. And Ferris went as usual to the Hampton store to get itcashed. This tine he stood in less dire need of money's life-savingqualities than of yore. It had been a good summer for Link. The liquorout of his system and with a new interest in life, he had worked with asnap and vigor which had brought results in hard cash. 

None the less, he was glad for this check. In another month the annualinterest on his farm mortgage would fall due. And the meeting of thatpayment was always a problem. This year he would be less cruellyharassed by it than before. 

Yet, all the more, he desired extra money. For a startlingly originalambition had awakened recently in his heart--namely, to pay off alittle of the mortgage's principal along with the interest. 

At first the idea had staggered him. But talking it over with Chum andstudying his thumbed-soiled ledger, he had decided there was a barechance he might be able to do it. 

As he mounted the steps of the store, this evening in late August, hesaw, tacked to the doorside clapboards, a truly gorgeous poster. By thelight of the flickering lamp over the door, he discerned the vividscarlet head of a dog in the upper corner of the yellow placard, andmuch display type below it. 

It was the picture of the dog which checked Link in passing. It was afancy head--the head of a stately and long muzzled dog with a ruff andwith tulip ears. In short, just such a dog as Chum. Not knowing thatChum was a collie and that poster artists rejoice to depict collies, byreason of the latter's decorative qualities, Ferris was amazed by thecoincidence. 

After a long and critical survey of the picture, he was moved to runhis eye over the flaring reading matter. 

The poster announced, to all and sundry, that on Labor Day a mammothdog show was to be held in the country club grounds at Craigswold--ashow for the benefit of the Red Cross. Entries were to be one dollarfor each class. "Thanks to generous contributions, the committee wasenabled to offer prizes of unusual beauty and value, in addition to thecustomary ribbons. "

Followed a list of cups and medals. Link scanned them with no greatinterest, But suddenly his roving gaze came to an astonishedstandstill. At the bottom of the poster, in forty-eight-point bold-facetype, ran the following proclamation:

 COL. CYRUS MARDEN OF CRAIGSWOLD MANOR OFFERS A CASH AWARD OF ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS ($100) TO THE BEST DOG OF ANY BREED EXHIBITED

 One hundred dollars!

Link reread the glittering sentence until he could have said itbackward. It would have been a patent lie had he heard it by word ofmouth. But as it was in print, of course it was true. 

One hundred dollars! And as a prize for the finest dog in the show. Notto BUY the dog, mind you. Just as a gift to the man who happened to ownthe best dog. It did not seem possible. Yet--

Link knew by hearsay and by observation the ways of the rich colony atCraigswold. He knew the Craigswolders spent money like mud, when it sopleased them--although more than one fellow huckster was at times soreput to it to collect from them a bill for fresh vegetables. 

Yes, and he knew Col. Cyrus Marden by sight, too. He was a long-facedlittle man who used to go about dressed in funny knee pants and with aleather bag of misshapen clubs over his shoulder. Link had seen himagain and again. He had seen the Colonel's enormous house at CraigswoldManor, too. He had no doubt Marden could afford this gift of a hundreddollars. 

"TO THE BEST DOG OF ANY BREED!"

Ferris knew nothing about the various breeds of dogs. But he did knowthat Chum was by far the best and most beautiful and the wisest dogever born. If Marden were offering a hundred dollar prize for the bestdog, there was not another dog on earth fit to compete with Chum. Thatwas a cinch. 

As for the hundred dollars--why, it would be a godsend on the mortgagepayment! Every cent of it could go toward the principal. That meantFerris could devote the extra few dollars he had already saved for theprincipal to the buying of fertilizers and several sorely-neededutensils and to the shingling of the house. 

Avid for more news of the offer, he entered the store and hunted up thepostmaster, who also chanced to be the store's proprietor and the mayorof Hampton and the local peace justice. Of this Pooh-Bah the inquiringFerris sought for details. 

"Some of the Red Cross ladies from up Craigswold way were here thismorning, to have me nail that sign on the store, " reported thepostmaster. "They're making a tour of all the towns hereabouts. Theyasked me to try to int'rest folks at Hampton in their show, too, andget them to make entries. They left me a bunch of blanks. Want one?"

"Yep, " said Link. "I guess I'll take one if it don't cost nothin', please. "

He studied the proffered entry blank with totally uncomprehending gaze. The postmaster came to his relief. 

"Let me show you, " he suggested, taking pity on his customer's wrinkledbrow and squinting helplessness. "I've had some experience in thisfolderol. I took my Airedale over to the Ridgewood show last spring andgot a third with him. I'm going to take him up to Craigswold on LaborDay, too. What kind of dog is yours?"

"The dandiest dawg that ever stood on four legs, " answered Link, afirewith the zeal of ownership. "Why, that dawg of mine c'n--"

"What breed is he?" asked the postmaster, not interested in the dawningrhapsody. 

"Oh--breed?" repeated Link. "Why, I don't rightly know. Some kind of abird dawg, I guess. Yes. A bird dawg. But he's sure the grandest--"

"Is he the dog you had down here, one day last month?" asked thepostmaster, with a gleam of recollection. 

"Yep. That's him, " assented Link. "Only dawg I've got. Only dawg I everhad. Only dawg I ever want to have. He's--"

But the postmaster was not attending. His time was limited. So, takingout a fountain pen, he had begun to scribble on the blank. Filling inLink's name and address, he wrote, in the "breed and sex" spaces, thewords, "Scotch collie, sable-and-white, male. "

"Name?" he queried, breaking in on Ferris's rambling eulogy. 

"Huh?" asked the surprised Link, adding: "Oh, his name, hey? I call him'Chum. ' You see, that dawg's more like a chum to me than--"

"No use asking about his pedigree, I suppose, " resumed the postmaster, "I mean who his parents were and--"

"Nope, " said Link. "I--I found him. His leg was--"

"Pedigree unknown, " wrote the postmaster; then, "What classes are youentering him for?"

"Classes?" repeated Link dully. "Why, I just want to put him into thatcontest for 'best dawg, ' you see. He--"

"Hold on!" interposed the postmaster impatiently. "You don't catch theidea. In each breed there are a certain number of classes: 'Puppy, ''Novice, ' 'Limit, ' 'Open, ' and so on. The dogs that get a blueribbon--that's first prize--in these classes all have to appear in whatis called the 'Winners Class. ' Then the dog that gets 'Winner's'--thedog that gets first prize in this 'Winners' Class'--competes for bestdog of his breed in the show. After that--as a 'special'--the best inall the different breeds are brought into the ring. And the dog thatwins in that final class is adjudged the 'best in the show. ' He's thedog in this particular show that will get Colonel Marden'shundred-dollar cash prize. See what I mean?"

"Ye-es, " replied Link, after digesting carefully what he had heard. "Iguess so. But--"

"Since you've never shown your dog before, " went on the postmaster, beginning to warm with professional interest, "you can enter him in the'Novice Class. ' That's generally the easiest. If he loses in that, noharm's done. If he wins he has a chance later in the 'Winners' Class. 'I'm mailing my entry to-night to the committee. If you like, I'll sendyours along with it. Give me a dollar. "

While Link extracted a greasy dollar bill from his pocket, thepostmaster filled in the class space with the word "Novice. "

"Thanks for helpin' me out, " said Ferris, grateful for the lift. 

"That's all right, " returned the postmaster, pocketing the bill andfolding the blank, as he prepared to end the interview by moving away. "Be sure to have your dog at the gate leading into the CraigswoldCountry Club grounds promptly at ten o'clock on Labor Day. If you don'tget a card and a tag sent to you, before then, tell your name to theclerk at the table there, and he'll give you a number. Tie your dog tothe stall with that number on it, and be sure to have him ready to gointo the ring when his number is called. That's all. "

"Thanks!" said Link, again. "An' now I guess I'll go back home an'commence brightenin' Chum up, a wee peckle, on his tricks. Maybe I'llhave time to learn him some new ones, too. I want him to make a hitwith them judges, an' everything. "

"Tricks?" scoffed the postmaster, pausing as he started to walk away. "Dogs don't need tricks in the show ring. All you have to do is to leadyour dog into the ring, and parade him round with the rest of them tillthe judge tells you to stop. Then he'll make them stand on the showplatform while he examines them. The dog's only 'tricks' are to standand walk at his best, and to look alert, so the judge can see the shapeof his ears and get his expression. Teach your dog to walk around withyou, on the leash, without hanging back, and to prick up his ears andstand at attention when you tell him to. That's all he needs to do. Thejudge will do the rest. Have him clean and well brushed, of course. "

"I--I sure feel bitter sorry for there other dawgs at the show!"mumbled Link. "A hundred dollars! Of all the dawgs that ever happened, Chummie is that one! Why, there ain't a thing he can't do, from herdin'sheep to winnin' a wad of soft money! An'--an' he's all MINE. "

CHAPTER III. 

The Ordeal

By dawn on Labor Day Link Ferris was astir. A series of discomfitingbaths and repeated currying with the dandy brush had made Chum's grandcoat stand out in shimmering fluffiness. A course ofcarefully-conducted circular promenades on the end of a chain hadtaught the dog to walk gaily and unrestrainedly in leash. And any ofseveral cryptic words, relating to hypothetical rats, and so forth, were quite enough to send up his ears. 

It was sheer excitement that brought Link broad awake before sunrise onthat day of days. Ferris was infected with the most virulent form ofthat weird malady known as "dog-showitis. " At first he had been temptedsolely by the hope of winning the hundred-dollar prize. But latterlythe urge of victory had gotten into his blood. And he yearned, too, tolet the world see what a marvelous dog was his. 

He hurried through the morning chores, then dressed himself in hisshabby best and hitched his horse to the antiquated Concord buggy--avehicle he had been washing for the state occasion almost as vehementlyas he had scrubbed Chum. 

After a gobbled breakfast, Ferris mounted to the seat of the agedbuggy, signaled Chum to leap to the battered cushion at his side andset off for Craigswold. Long before ten o'clock his horse was safelystabled at the Craigswold livery, and Ferris was leading Chum proudlythrough the wicket gate leading into the country-club grounds. 

All happened as the postmaster had foretold. The clerk at the wicketasked him his name, fumbled through a ledger and a pile of envelopesand presently handed Ferris a numbered tag. 

"Sixty-five, " read the clerk for Link's benefit. "That's down at theextreme right. Almost the last bench to the right. "

Into the hallowed precinct Link piloted the much-interested Chum. Therehe paused for a dazzled instant. The putting green and the fore-lawn infront of the field-stone clubhouse had been covered with a mass ofwooden alleyways, each lined with a double row of stalls about two feetfrom the ground, carpeted with straw and having individual zinc watertroughs in front of them. In nearly every one of these "benches" wastied a dog. 

There were more dogs than Link Ferris had seen before in all hisquasi-dogless life. And all of them seemed to be barking or yelping. The din was egregious. Along the alleyways, men and women in sportclothes were drifting, in survey of the chained exhibits. In a centralspace among the lines of benches was a large square enclosure, ropedoff except for one aperture. In the middle of this space, which Linkrightly guessed to be the judging ring, stood a very low woodenplatform. At one side of the ring were a chair and a table, where sat asteward in a Palm Beach suit, fussily turning over the leaves of aledger and assorting a heap of high-packed and vari-colored ribbons. 

Link, mindful of instructions, bore to the right in search of a stalllabeled "65. " As he went, he noted that the dogs were benched in such away that each breed had a section to itself. Thus, while he was stillsome distance away from his designated bench, he saw that he was cominginto a section of dogs which, in general aspect, resembled Chum. Abovethis aggregation, as over others, hung a lettered sign. And thisespecial sign read "Collie Section. "

So Chum was a "collie"--whatever that might be. Link took it to be afancy term for "bird dog. " He had seen the word before somewhere. Andhe remembered now that it had been in the advertisement that offeredseventy-five dollars for the return of a lost "sable-and-white collie. "Yes, and Dominie Jansen had said, "sable" meant "black. " Link felt aglow of relief that the advertisement had not said "a brown-and-whitecollie. "

Chum was viewing his new surroundings with much attention, looking upnow and then into his master's face as they moved along the racketyline--as though to gain reassurance that all was well. 

To a high-strung and sensitive dog a show is a terrific ordeal. ButChum, like the aristocrat he was, bore its preliminaries with debonaircalm. 

Arriving at Bench 65 in the collie section, Link enthroned his dogthere, fastening the chain's free end to a ring in the stall's corner. Then, after seeing that the water pan was where Chum could reach it incase he were thirsty and that the straw made a comfortable couch forhim, Ferris once more patted the worried dog and told him everythingwas all right. After which Link proceeded to take a survey of theneighboring collies, the sixteen dogs which were to be Chum'scompetitors. 

His first appraising glance of the double row of collies caused thefurrow between his eyes to vanish and brought a grin of complacentsatisfaction to his thin lips. For he did not see a single entrantthat, in his eyes, seemed to have a ghost of a chance against hisidolized pet--not a dog as handsome or with half the look ofintelligence or with the proudly gay bearing of Chum. 

Of the sixteen other collies the majority were sables of divers shades. There were three tricolors and two mist-hued merles. Over nearly allthe section's occupants a swarm of owners and handlers were just nowbusy with brush and cloth. For word had come that collies were to bethe second breed judged that day. The first breed was to be the GreatDanes. As there were but three Danes in the show, their judging wouldbe brief. And it behooved the collies' attendants to have their entriesready. 

Link, following the example of those around him, took from his pocketthe molting dandy brush and set to work once more on Chum's coat. Heobserved that the rest were brushing their dogs' fur against the grain, to make it fluff up. And he reversed his own former process inimitation of them. He had supposed until now that a collie's hair, likea man's, ought to be slicked down smooth for state occasions. And ittroubled him to find that Chum's coat rebelled against such treatment. Now, under the reverse process, it stood out in wavy freedom. 

At the adjoining stall to the left a decidedly pretty girl was watchinga groom put the finishing touches to the toilet of her tricolor collie. Link heard her exclaim in protest as the groom removed from the dog'scollar a huge cerise bow she had just affixed there. 

"Sorry, Miss, " Ferris heard the groom explain, "but it's agin rules fora dog to go in the ring with a ribbon on. If the judge thinks he's goodenough for a ribbon he'll award him one. But--"

"Oh, he simply can't help awarding one to Morven, here!" broke in thegirl. "CAN he, Stokes?"

"Hard to say, Miss, " answered the groom imperturbably, as he wroughtwith brush and cloth. "Judges has their own ideas. We'll have to hopefor the best for him and not be too sick if he gets gated. "

"Gated?" echoed the girl--an evident newcomer to the realm of showdom. 

"Yes, Miss, " expounded the groom. "'Gated' means 'shown the gate. ' Somejudges thins out a class that way, by sending the poorest dogs out ofthe ring first. Then again, some judges--"

"Oh, I'm glad I wore this dress!" sighed the girl. "It goes so wellwith Morven's color. Perhaps the judge--"

"Excuse me, Miss, " put in the groom, trying not to laugh, "but thecollie judge to-day is Fred Leightonhe bred the great Howgill Rival, you know--and when Leighton is in the ring, he hasn't got eyes foranything but the dogs themselves. Begging your pardon, he wouldn'tnotice if you was to wear a horse blanket. At that, Leighton's thesquarest and the best--"

"Look!" whispered the girl, whose attention had wandered and whoseroving gaze had settled on Chum. "Look at that dog in the next bench. Isn't he magnificent?"

Link swelled with pride at the lowspoken praise. And turning away tohide his satisfaction, he saw that quite a sizable knot of spectatorshad gathered in front of Chum's bench. They were inspecting the colliewith manifest approval. Chum, embarrassed by the unaccustomed notice, had moved as far as possible from his admirers, and was nuzzling hishead into Ferris's hand for refuge. 

"Puppy Class, Male Scotch Collies!" droned a ring attendant, appearingfor a moment at the far end of the section. "Numbers 60, 61, 62. "

Three youngsters, ranging in age from seven to eleven months, werecoaxed down from their straw couches by three excited owners and wereconvoyed fussily toward the ring. 

"Novice Class next, Miss, " Link heard the groom saying to the girl atthe adjoining bench. "Got his ring leash ready?"

"Ring leash!" This was a new one to Ferris. His eyes followed the trioof puppies shuffling ringward. He saw that all three were on leatherleashes and that their chains had been left in the stalls. Presumablythere was a law against chains in the ring. And Link had no leash. 

For an instant he was in a quandary. Then his brow cleared. True, hehad no leash. Yet, if chains, like bows of ribbon, were barred from thering, he could maneuver Chum every bit as well with his voice as withany leash. So that problem was solved. 

A minute later, the three pups reappeared at the end of the section. And behind them came the attendant, intoning:

"Novice Class, Male Scotch Collies! Numbers 64, 65, 66, 67. "

There was an absurd throbbing in Link Ferris's meridian. His callousedhands shook as he unchained Chum and motioned him to leap from thebench to the ground. 

Chum obeyed, but with evident uneasiness. His odd surroundings weregetting on the collie's nerves. Link bent over him, under pretense ofgiving him a farewell rub with the brush. 

"It's all right, Chummie!" he crooned soothingly. "It's all RIGHT! I'mhere. An' nobody's goin' to bother you none. You're a-helpin' me winthat hundred. An' you're lettin' these gold-shirt folks see what aclam' gorgeous dawg you be! Come along, ol' friend!"

Under the comfort of his god's voice, Chum's nervousness fled. Safe inhis sublime trust that his master would let no harm befall him, thecollie trotted toward the ring at Ferris's heels. 

Three other novice dogs were already in the ring when Link arrived atthe narrow opening. The steward was sitting at the table as before. Atthe corner of the ring, alongside the platform, stood a man in tweeds, unlighted pipe in mouth, half-shut shrewd eyes studying the dogs asthey filed in through the gap in the ropes. The inscrutable eyesflickered ever so little at sight of Chum, but at once resumed theirformer disinterested gaze. 

"Walk close!" whispered Link as the parade started. 

Chum, hearing a command he had long since learned, ranged himself atFerris's side and paced majestically in the procession of four. Two ofthe other novice dogs were straining at their leashes; the third washanging back and pawing frantically to break away. Chum, unleashed, guided only by the voice, drew every eye to him by his rare beauty andhis lofty self-possession. 

But he was not allowed to finish the parade. Stepping up to Ferris, Judge Leighton tapped him on the arm. 

"Take your dog over to that corner, " he ordered, "and keep him there. "

Link fought back a yearning to punch the judge, and surlily he obeyedthe mandate. Into his memory jumped the things the groom had said abouta dog being "gated. " If that judge thought for one second that any ofthose mutts could hold a candle to Chum--. Again he yearned to enforcewith his two willing fists his opinion of the judge. 

But, as he well knew, to start a fight in this plutocratic assemblagewould mean a jail term. And in such case, what would befall thedeserted Chum? For the dog's sake he restrained himself, and he beganto edge surreptitiously toward the ring exit, with a view to slidingout unperceived with his splendid, underrated dog. 

But Ferris did not reach the gate unchecked. 

Judge Leighton had ended the parade and had stood the three dogs, oneby one and then two at a time, on the platform while he studied them. Then he had crossed to the table and picked up the judging book andfour ribbons--one blue, one red, one yellow and one white. Three ofthese ribbons he handed to the three contestants' handlers. 

Then he stepped across the ring to where Ferris was edging his waytoward the exit; and handed Link the remaining ribbon. It was darkblue, with gilt lettering. 

Leighton did not so much as subject Chum to the handling and closeinspection he had lavished on the three others. One expert glance hadtold the judge that the dark-sable collie, led by this loutishcountryman, was better fitted to clean up prizes at Madison SquareGarden than to appear in a society dog show in the North Jerseyhinterland. 

Leighton had viewed Chum, as a bored musician, listening to thepiano-antics of defective children, might have regarded the playing ofa disguised Paderewski. Wherefore, he had waved the dog to one sidewhile he judged the lesser entrants, and then had given him the meritedfirst-prize ribbon. 

Link, in a daze of bliss, stalked back to the bench; with Chum caperingalong at his side. The queer sixth sense of a collie told Chum his godwas deliriously happy, and that Chum himself had somehow had a share inmaking him so. Hence the dog's former gloomy pacing changed to a seriesof ecstatic little dance steps, and he kept thrusting his cold muzzleinto the cup of Ferris's palm. 

Again Bench 65 was surrounded by an admiring clump of spectators. Chumand Link vied each other in their icy aloofness toward these admirers. But with a difference. 

Chum was unaffectedly bothered by so much unwelcome attention fromstrangers. Ferris, on the other hand, reveled in the knowledge that hisbeloved pet was the center of more adulation than was any other dog inall the section. 

Class after class went to be judged. Link was sorry he had not spentmore money and entered Chum in every class. The initial victory hadgone to his head. He had not known he could be so serenely happy. Aftera while, he started up at the attendant's droning announcement of, "Winners' Class, Male Scotch Collies! Numbers 62, 65, 68, 70, 73!"

Again Link and Chum set out for the ring. Link's glee had merged intoan all-consuming nervousness, comparable only to a maiden hunter's"buck ague. " Chum, once more sensing Ferris's state of mind, lost hisown glad buoyancy and paced solemnly alongside, peering worriedly upinto Link's face at every few steps. 

All five entrants filed into the ring and began their parade. Leighton, in view of the importance of this crowning event, did not single outany one dog, as before, to stand to one side; nor did he gate any. Hegave owners and spectators their full due, by a thorough inspection ofall five contestants. But as a result of his examination, he ended thesuspense by handing Link Ferris a purple rosette, whereon was blazonedin gilt the legend, "Winners. "

A salvo of handclaps greeted the eminently just decision. And Chum leftthe ring, to find a score of gratulatory hands stretched forth to pathim. Quite a little crowd escorted him back to his bench. 

A dozen people picked acquaintance with Link. They asked him all sortsof questions as to his dog. Link made monosyllabic and noncommittalreplies to all of these--even when the great Col. Cyrus Marden himselfdeigned to come over to the collie section and stare at Chum, accompanying his scrutiny with a volley or patronizing inquiries. 

From the bystanders Link learned something of real interest--namely, that one of the "specials" was a big silver cup, to be awarded to "bestcollie of either sex"; and that after the females should have been, judged, the winning female and Chum must appear in the ring together tocompete for this trophy. 

Sure enough, in less than thirty minutes Chum was summoned to the ring. There, awaiting him, was a dainty and temperamental merle, of theTazewell strain. Exquisite and high-bred as was this female competitor, Judge Leighton wasted little time on the examination before givingFerris a tricolored ribbon, whose possession entitled him to one of theshimmering silver mugs in the near-by trophy case. 

After receiving full assurance that the big cup should be his at theclose of the show, Link returned to Chum's bench in ecstasy and satdown beside his tired dog, with one arm thrown lovingly round thecollie's ruff. Chum nestled against his triumphant master, as Linkfondled his bunch of ribbons and went over, mentally, every move of histriumphal morning. 

The milling and changing groups of spectators in front of Bench 65 didnot dwindle. Indeed, as the morning went on, they increased. Peoplekept coming back to the bench and bringing others with them. Some ofthese people whispered together. Some merely stared and went away. Someasked Ferris carefully worded questions, to which the shyly happymountaineer replied with sheepish grunts. 

The long period of judging came at last to an end. And the "Best Dog inShow" special was called. 

Into the ring Ferris escorted Chum, amid a multitude of fellow winners, representing one male or female of every breed exhibited. Leighton andanother judge stood in the ring's center, and around them billowed theheterogeneous array. The two went at their Gargantuan task with anexpert swiftness. Mercilessly, dog after dog was weeded out and gated. At last, Chum and two others were all remaining of the many which hadthronged the ring. The spectators were banked, five deep andbreathless, round the ropes. 

The two judges went into brief executive session in one corner. ThenLeighton crossed to Link, for the fourth time that day, and gave himthe gaudy rosette which proclaimed Chum "best dog in the show. " A roarof applause went up. Link felt dizzy--and numb. Then, with a gasp ofrapture, he stooped and gathered the bored Chum in his long arms, in abearlike, ecstatic hug. 

"We done it, Chummie!" he chortled. "WE DONE IT!"

Still in a daze, he followed the steward to the trophy case, where hereceived not only the shining silver cup, but a "sovereign purse, "wherein were ensconced ten ten-dollar gold pieces. 

It was all a dream--a wonder dream from which presently he must awaken. Link was certain of that. But while the golden dream lasted, he knewthe nameless joys of paradise. 

Chum close at his side, he made his way through the congratulatingcrowd toward the outer gate of the country club grounds. He had almostreached the wicket when someone touched him, with unnecessary firmness, on the shoulder. 

Not relishing the familiarity, Link turned a scowling visage on theinterrupter of his triumphal homeward progress. At his elbow stood astockily-built man, dressed with severe plainness. 

"You're Lincoln Ferris?" queried the stranger, more as if statingaggressively a fact than making an inquiry. 

"Yep, " said Link, cross at this annoying break-in upon his trance ofhappiness. "What d'j' want?" he added. 

"Please step back to the clubhouse a minute with me, " returned thestranger, civilly enough, but with the same bossy firmness in his tonethat had jarred Ferris in his touch. "One or two people want to speakto you. Bring along your dog. "

Link glowered. He fancied he knew what was in store. Some of the ultraselect had gathered in the holy interior of the clubhouse and wanted aprivate view of Chum, unsullied by the noisy presence of the crowdoutside. They would talk patronizingly to Link, and perhaps even try tocoax him into selling Chum. The thought decided Ferris. 

"I'm goin' home!" he said roughly. 

"You're coming with me, " contradicted the man in that same quiet voice, but slipping his muscular arm into Link's. 

With his other hand he shifted the lapel of his coat, displaying apolice badge on its reverse. Still avoiding any outward appearance offorce, he turned about, with his arm locked in Ferris's and startedtoward the clubhouse. 

"Here!" expostulated poor Link, with all a true mountaineer's horror ofthe police. "What's all this? I ain't broke no law! I--"

An ugly growl from Chum punctuated his scared plea. Noting the terrorin his master's tone and the grip of the stranger on Link's arm, Chumhad spun round to face the two. 

The collie's eyes were fixed grimly upon the plainclothes man'stemptingly thick throat. One corner of Chum's upper lip was curledback, displaying a businesslike if snowy fang. His head was lowered. Deep in his furry throat a succession of legato growls were born. 

The plain-clothes man knew much about dogs. He knew, for example, thatwhen a dog holds his head high and barks there is no special danger tobe feared from him. But he also knew that when a dog lowers his headand growls, showing his eyetooth, he means business. 

And the man shrank from the menace. One hand crept back instinctivelytoward his hip pocket. 

Link saw the purely involuntary gesture, and he shook in his boots. Itwas thus a Hampton constable had once reached back when a stray cursnapped at him. And that constable had completed the movement bydrawing a pistol and shooting the cur. Perhaps this non-uniformedstranger meant to do the same thing. 

"Hold on!" begged Link, intervening between the man and the dog. "I'llgo along with you peaceful. Quit, Chum! It's all right!"

The dog still looked undecided. He did not like this new note in hisgod's voice. But he obeyed the injunction, and fell into step at Link'sside as usual. Ferris suffered himself to be piloted, unresisting, through the tattered remnant of the crowd and up the clubhouse steps. 

There his conductor led him through the sacred portals and down a widehallway to the door of a committee room. Throwing open the door, heushered in his captive and the dog, entering behind them and reclosingthe heavy door. 

In the room, round a table, sat several persons--all men except one. The exception was the girl whose collie had had the bench next toChum's. At the table head, looking very magisterial indeed, sat ColonelMarden. Beside him lounged a larger and older man in a plaid sport suit. 

Link's escort ranged his prisoners at the foot of the table; Chumstanding tight against Ferris's knee, as if to guard him from possibleharm. Link stood glowering in sullen perplexity at the Colonel. Mardencleared his voice pompously, then spoke. 

"Ferris, " he began with much impressiveness, "I am a magistrate of thiscounty--as you perhaps know. You may consider yourself before the Barof Justice, and reply to my questions accordingly. "

Awed by this thundered preamble, Ferris made shift to mutter:

"I ain't broke no laws. What d'j' want of me, anyhow?"

"First of all, " proceeded Marden, "where did you get that dog?"

"Chum here?" said Ferris. "Why, I come acrost him, early last spring, on the patch of state road, jes' outside of Hampton. He was a-layin' ina ditch, with his leg bust. Throwed off'n a auto, I figgered it. I tookhim home an'--"

He paused, as the sport-suited man next to Marden nodded excitedly tothe girl and then whispered to the Colonel. 

"You took him home?" pursued Marden. "Couldn't you see he was avaluable dog?"

"I c'd see he was a sufferin' an' dyin' dawg, " retorted Link. "I c'dsee he was a goner, 'less I took him home an' 'tended him. If you'reaimin' at findin' out why I went on keepin' him after that, I done sobecause no one claimed him. I put up notices 'bout him. I put one up atthe post-office here, too. I--"

"He did!" interrupted the girl. "That's true! I saw it. Only--thenotice said it was a bird dog. That's why we didn't follow it up. He--"

"Miss Gault, " suggested Marden in lofty reproof, "suppose you leave theinterrogatory to me, if you please? Yes, I recollect that notice. Myattention was called to it at the time. But, " again addressing Link, "why did you call 'Glenmuir Cavalier' a 'BIRD dog'? Was it to throw usoff the track or--"

"Don't know no What's-His-Name Cav'lier!" snapped Ferris. "This dawg'sname is Chum. Like you c'n see in my entry blank, what's layin' on thetable in front of you. I adv'tised Chum as a bird dawg because Is'posed he WAS a bird dawg. I ain't a sharp on dawgs. He's the fust oneever I had. If he ain't a bird dawg, 'tain't my fault. He looks morelike one than like 'tother breeds I'd seen. So I called him one. "

"There is no need to raise your voice at me!" rebuked the colonel. "Iam disposed to accept your explanation. But if you read the localpapers you must have seen--"

"I did read 'em, " said Ferris. "I read 'em steady for a month or more, to see was there was adv'tisement fer a lost dawg. Nary an adv'tisementdid I see excep' one fer a 'sable' collie. 'Sable' means 'black. ' Iknow, because our dominie told me so. I asked him, when I see thatpiece in the paper. Chum ain't black, nor nowheres near black. So Iknowed it couldn't be him. What d'j' want of me, anyhow?" he demandedonce more. 

"Again, I am disposed to credit your explanation, " boomed the colonel, frowning down a ripple of giggles that had its rise in Miss Gault. "AndI am disposed to acquit you of consciously dishonest intent. I am gladto do so. Here is the situation: Early last spring, Mr. Gault, "indicating the sport-suit wearer at his left, "bought from the famousGlenmuir Collie Kennels, on the Hudson, an unusually fine youngcollie--a dog for which connoisseurs predicted a great future in theshow ring. He purchased it as a gift for his daughter, Miss MarionGault. "

He inclined his head slightly toward the girl; then proceeded:

"As Mr. Glenmuir was disbanding his kennel, Mr. Gault was able tosecure the dog--Glenmuir Cavalier. He started for Craigswold, with thedog on the rear seat of the car. At first he kept a hand on the dog'scollar, but as the collie made no attempt to escape, he soon turnedaround--he was in the front seat--and paid no more attention to him. Just outside of Suffern, he looked back--to find Cavalier haddisappeared. He advertised, and made all possible efforts to locate thedog. But he could get no clew to him, until to-day. Seeing this dog ofyours in the show ring, he recognized him at once. "

The pompously booming voice, with its stilted diction, ceased. All eyeswere upon Link Ferris. The mountaineer, stung to life by the silenceand the multiple gaze, came out of his trance of shock. 

"Then--then, " he stuttered, forcing the words from a throat sanded bysudden dread, "then Chum rightly b'longs to this man?"

"Quite so!" assented Marden, in some relief. "I am glad you grasp thepoint so readily. Mr. Gault has talked the matter over with me, and heis taking a remarkably broad and generous view of the case if I may sayso. He is not only willing that you should keep the cup and the cashprize which you have won to-day, but he is also ready to pay to you theseventy-five dollar reward he offered for the return of GlenmuirCavalier. I repeat, this strikes me as most gener--"

"NO!" yelled Link, a spasm of foreseen loneliness sweeping over him. "NO!! He can't have him! Nobody can! Why Chum's my dawg! I've learnedhim to fetch cows an' shake hands an'--an' everything! An' he drug meout'n the lake, when I was a-drowndin'! An' he done a heap more'n thatfer me! He's drug me up to my feet, out'n wuthlessness, too; an' he'slearned me that livin' is wuth while! He's my--my--he's my dawg!" hefinished lamely, his scared eyes sweeping the circle of faces in panicappeal. 

"That will do, Ferris!" coldly exhorted the colonel. "We wish no sceneshere. You will take this seventyfive dollar check which Mr. Gault hasso kindly made out for you, and you will go. "

"Leavin' Chum behind?" babbled Ferris, aghast. "Not leavin' Chumbehind? PLEASE not!"

He pulled himself together with an effort that drove his nails bitinglyinto his palms and left his face gray. He saw the uselessness ofpleading with these people of polished iron, who could not understandhis fearful loss. For the sake of Chum--for the sake of theself-respecting man he himself had become--he would not let himself goto pieces. Forcing his shaken voice to a dry steadiness, he addressedthe uneasily squirming Gault. 

"What d'j' you pay for Chum when you bought him off'n that Hudson Riverfeller--that Glenmuir chap?" he demanded. 

"Why, as a matter of fact, " responded Gault, "as Colonel Marden hastold you, I couldn't have hoped to get such a promising collie at anyprice it--"

"What d'j' you pay for him?" insisted Link, his voice harsh andunconsciously domineering as a vague new hope dawned on his troubledmind. 

"I paid six hundred dollars, " answered Gault shortly, in annoyance atthe boor's manner. 

"Good!" approved Link, "That gives us suthin' to go on. I'll pay yousix hundred dollars fer him back. This hundred dollars in gold an' thisyer silver cup an' seven dollars more I got with me--to bind thebargain. An' a second mortgage on my farm fer the rest. Fer as much ofthe rest, " he amended, "as I ain't got ready cash for. "

In his stark earnestness, Link's rough voice sounded more hectoring andunpleasant than before. Gault, unused to such talk from the alleged"peasantry, " resolved to cut short the haggling. 

"Sell for six hundred a dog that's cleaned up 'best in the show?'" herasped. "No, thank you. Leighton says Cavalier will go far. One man, ten minutes ago, offered me a thousand for him. "

"A thousan'?" repeated Ferris, scared at the magnitude of thesum--then, rallying, he asked:

"What WILL you let me have him fer, then? Set a price, can't you?"

"The dog is not for sale, " curtly replied Gault, busying himself withthe lighting of a cigarette. 

"Take Mr. Gault's check and go, " commanded Marden, thrusting the slipof paper at Link. "I think there is nothing more to say. I have anappointment at--"

He hesitated. Regardless of the others' presence, Ferris dropped to oneknee beside the uncomprehending dog. With his arm about Chum's neck, hebent close to the collie's ear and whispered:

"Good-by, Chummie! It's good-by, fer keeps, too. Don't you get tothinkin' I've gone an' deserted you, nor got tired of you, nor nothnn', Chum. Because I'd a dam' sight ruther leave one of my two legs herethan to leave you. I--I guess only Gawd rightly knows all you done ferme, Chum. But I ain't a-goin' to ferget none of it. Lord, but it'sgoin' to be pretty turrible, to home, without you!" He got to his feet, winking back a mist from his red eyes, and turning blindly toward thedoor. 

"Here!" boomed Marden after him. "You've forgotten your check. "

"I don't aim to take no measly money fer givin' up the only friend Igot!" snarled Link over his shoulder. "Keep it--fer a tip!"

It was a good exit line. But it was spoiled. Because, as Ferris reachedthe door and groped for its knob, Chum was beside him--glad to get outof this uncongenial assembly and to be alone with the master who seemedso unhappy and so direly in need of consolation. Link stiffened to hisfull height. With one hand lovingly laid on the collie's silken head, he mumbled:

"No, Chum, you can't come along. Back, boy! Stay HERE!"

Lowering at Gault, he added:

"He ain't never been hit, nor yet swore at. An' he don't need to be. Treat him nice, like he's used to bein' treated. An' don't get sore onhim if he mopes fer me, jes' at fust. Because he's sure to. Dogs ain'tlike folks. They got hearts. Folks has only got souls. I guess dogs hasthe best of it, at that. "

Ferris swung open the door and stumbled out, not trusting himself for abackward glance at the wistfully grieved dog he had left behind. 

Lurchingly he made off, across the lawn and out through the wicket. Hewas numb and sick. He moved mechanically and with no conscious power ofthought or of locomotion. 

Out in the highroad, a homing instinct guided his leaden feet in thedirection of Hampton. And he plodded dazedly the interminable fourmiles that separated him from his desolate farm. 

As he turned in at his own gate, he was aware of a poignant dread thatpierced his numbness. And he knew it for a dread of entering the houseand of finding no one to welcome him. Setting his teeth he wentforward, unlocked the door and stamped into the silent kitchen. 

Upon the table he dumped the paper-swathed cup he had been carryingunnoticed under his arm. Beside it he threw the little purse full ofgold pieces and the wad of prize ribbons. Stepping back, his footstruck something. He looked down and saw it was a gay-colored rubberball he had bought, months ago, for Chum--the dog's favorite plaything. 

His face twisting, Link snatched up the ball and went out onto thesteps to throw it far out of sight; that it might no more remind him ofthe pet who had so often coaxed him to toss it for retrieval. 

Ferris hurled the ball far out into the garden. As the missile left hishand an exultant bark re-echoed through the silence of the sunset. Chum, who had been trotting demurely up the walk, sprang gleefully inpursuit of the ball, and presently came galloping back to the dazedlyincredulous Link, with the many-colored sphere of rubber between hisjaws. 

Chum had had no trouble at all in catching his master's trail andfollowing it home. He would have overtaken the slow-slouching Ferris, had he been able to slip out of the clubhouse sooner. And now itpleased him to be welcomed by this evident invitation to a game of ball. 

Link gave a gulping cry and buried both hands in the collie's ruff, staring down at the dancing dog in an agony of rapture. Then, all atonce, his muscles tensed, and his newly flushed face went green-whiteagain. 

"I--I guess we got to play it square, Chum!" he muttered aloud, withsomething like a groan. "I was blattin' to 'em, up there, how you'dmade a white man of me. An' a reg'lar white man don't keep what ain'this own prop'ty. Come along, Chummie!"

His jaw very tense, his back painfully stiff, Link strode heavily downthe lane and out into the highroad. Chum, always eager for a walk withhis god, frisked about him in delight. 

He had traversed the bulk of the distance to Craigswold, the dog besidehim, when he remembered that he had left his horse and buggy at thelivery stable there in the morning. Well, that would save his achingfeet a four-mile walk home. In the meantime--

He and Chum stepped to the roadside to avoid a fast-traveling littlemotor car which was bearing down on them from the direction ofCraigswold. 

The car did not pass them. Instead, it came to a gear-racking haltclose beside Ferris. Link, glancing up in dull lack of interest, beheldGault and the latter's daughter staring down at him. 

"Chum came home, " said Ferris, scowling at them. "He trailed me. Don'tlick him fer it! He's only a dog, an' he didn't know no better. I wasbringin' him back to you. "

The girl looked sharply at her father. Gault fidgeted uneasily, as hehad done once or twice that afternoon in the clubhouse. And he avoidedhis daughter's gaze. So she turned her level eyes on Link. 

"Mr. Ferris, " she said very quietly, "do you mean to say, when this dogcame back to you, you were actually going to return him to us, insteadof hiding him somewhere till the search was over?"

"I'm here, ain't I?" countered Ferris defiantly. 

"But why?" she insisted. "WHY?"

"Because I'm a fool, I s'pose, " he growled. "I guess Chum wouldn't caremuch 'bout livin' with a thief. Take him up there with you on the seat. Don't let him fall out. An'"--his voice scaling a half octave in itspain--"keep him to home after this. I ain't no measly angel. I can'tswear I'd have the grit to fetch him back another time. "

He stopped, to note a curious phenomenon. There were actually tears inthe girl's big grave eyes. Link wondered why. Then she said:

"Cavalier isn't my father's dog. He is mine. My father gave him to mewhen he bought him, last spring. Colonel Marden seemed to haveforgotten that to-day. And I didn't want to start a squabble byreminding him of it. After all, it's my father's affair, and mine. Nobody else's. My father got me another collie last spring to takeCavalier's place. A collie I'm ever so fond of. So I don't needCavalier. I don't want him. I tried to find you to tell you so. But youhad gone. So I got my father to drive me to your place. We'd havestarted sooner, but Cavalier got away. And we waited to look forhim--to bring him along. "

"Bring him along?" mutteringly echoed the blankbrained Link. "What fer?"

"Why, " laughed the girl, "because your house is where he belongs andwhere he is going to live. Just as he has been living all summer. "

Ferris caught his breath in a choked wheeze of unbelieving ecstasy. 

"Gawd!" he breathed. "GAWD!"

Then, he stammered brokenly

"They--they don't seem no right words to--to thank you in, Ma'am. Butmaybe you und'stand what I'd want to say if I could?"

"Yes, " she said gently. "I think I understand. I understood from theminute I saw you and the dog together. That's why I decided I didn'twant him. That's why I--"

"An' you'll get that thousand dollars!" cried Link, his fingers buriedrapturously in Chum's fur. "Ev'ry cent of it. I--"

"I think, " interrupted the girl, winking very fast. "I think I've gotwhat I wanted, already. My father doesn't want the money either. Doyou, Dad?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, stop rubbing it in!" fumed Gault. "Come onhome! It's getting cold. I ought to thank the Lord for not having youanywhere near me in Wall Street, girl! You'd send me under the hammerin a week. "

He kicked the accelerator, and the little car whizzed off in thetwilight. 

"Chum, " observed Ferris, gaping after it. "Chum, I guess the good Lordbuilt that gal the same day He built YOU. If He did--well, He sure doneone grand day's work!"

CHAPTER IV. 

The Choice

Luck had come at last to the Ferris farm. Link's cash went intoimprovements on the place, instead of going into the deteriorating ofhis inner man. And he worked the better. A sulky man is ever prone tobe an inefficient man. And Link no longer sulked. 

All this-combined with a wholesale boom in local agriculture, andespecially in truck gardening--had wrought wonders in Link's farm andin Link's bank account. Within three years of Ferris's meeting withChum the place's last mortgage was wiped out and a score of neededrepairs and improvements were installed. Also the man had a small butsteadily growing sum to his credit in a Paterson savings bank. 

Life on the farm was mighty pleasant, nowadays. Work was hard, ofcourse, but it was bringing results that made it more than worth while. Ferris and his dog were living on the fat of the land. And they werehappy. 

Then came the interruption that had been inevitable from the very first. 

A taciturn and eternally dead-broke man, in a rural region, need notfear intrusion on his privacy. Convivial folk make detours round him, as if he were a mud puddle. Thriftier and more respectable neighborseye him askance or eye him not at all. 

But when a meed of permanent success comes to such a man he need nolonger be lonely unless he so wills. Which is not cynicism, but commonsense. The convivial element will still fight shy of him. But he iswelcomed into the circle of the respectable. 

So it was with Link Ferris. Of old he had been known as a shiftless andharddrinking mountaineer with a sour farm that was plastered withmortgages. Now, he had cleared off his mortgages and had cleaned up hisfarm; and he and his home exuded an increasing prosperity. 

People, meeting him in the nearby village of Hampton or at church, began to treat him with a consideration that the long-aloof farmerfound bewildering. 

Yet he liked it rather than not; being at heart a gregarious soul. Andwith gruff friendliness he met the advances of well-to-do neighbors whoin old days had scarce favored him with a nod. 

The gradual change from the isolated life of former years did not makeany sort of a hit with Chum. The collie had been well content to wanderthrough the day's work at his master's heels; to bring in the sheep andthe cattle from pasture; to guard the farm from intruders--human orotherwise. 

In the evenings it had been sweet to lounge at Link's feet, on thelittle white porch, in the summer dusk; or to lie in drowsy content infront of the glowing kitchen stove on icy nights when the galescreeched through the naked boughs of the dooryard trees and the snowscratched hungrily at the window panes. 

Now, the dog's sensitive brain was aware of a subtle alteration. He didnot object very much to the occasional visits at the house of otherfarmers and townsfolk during the erstwhile quiet evenings, although hehad been happier in the years of peaceful seclusion. 

But he grieved at his master's increasingly frequent absences fromhome. Nowadays, once or twice a week, Link was wont to dress himself inhis best as soon as the day's work was done, and fare forth to Hamptonfor the evening. 

Sometimes he let Chum go with him in these outings. Oftener of late hehad said, as he started out:

"Not to-night, Chummie. Stay here. "

Obediently the big dog would lay himself down with a sigh on the porchedge; his head between his white little forepaws; his sorrowful browneyes following the progress of his master down the lane to the highroad. 

But he grieved, as only a sensitive highbred dog can grieve--a dog whoasks nothing better of life than permission to live and to die at theside of the man he has chosen as his god; to follow that god out intorain or chill; to starve with him, if need be; to suffer at hishands--in short, to do or to be anything except to be separated fromhim. 

Link Ferris had gotten into the habit of leaving Chum alone at home, oftener and oftener of late, as his own evening absences from the farmgrew more and more frequent. 

He left Chum at home because She did not like dogs. 

"She" was Dorcas Chatham, the daughter of Hampton's postmaster andgeneral storekeeper. 

Old Man Chatham in former days would have welcomed Cal Whitson, theofficial village souse, to his home as readily as he would haveadmitted the ne'er-do-well Link Ferris to that sanctuary. But of latehe had noted the growing improvement in Link's fortunes, as evidencedby his larger store trade, his invariable cash payments and thefrequent money orders which went in his name to the Paterson savingsbank. 

Wherefore, when Dorcas met Link at a church sociable and again on astraw ride and asked him to come and see her some time, her sire madeno objection. Indeed he welcomed the bashful caller with something likean approach to cordiality. 

Dorcas was a calm-eyed, efficient damsel, more than a little pretty, and with much repose of manner. Link Ferris, from the first, eyed herwith a certain awe. When a mystic growing attraction was added to thisand when it in turn merged into love, the sense of awe was not lost. Rather it was strengthened. 

In all his thirty-one lean and lonely years Link had never beforefallen in love. At the age when most youths are sighing over somewonder girl, he had been too busy fighting off bankruptcy andstarvation to have time or thought for such things. 

Wherefore, when love at last smote him it smote him hard. And it foundhim woefully unprepared for the battle. 

He knew nothing of women. He did not know, for example, what theaverage youth finds out in his teens--that grave eyes and silentaloofness and lofty self-will and icy pietism in a maiden do not alwayssignify that she is a saint and that she must be worshiped as such. Ferris had no one to tell him that far oftener these signs point merelyto stupid narrowness and to lack of ideas. 

Dorcas was clever at housework. She was quietly self-assured. She wasgood to look upon. She was not like any of the few girls Link had met. Wherefore he built for her a sacred shrine in his innermost heart; andhe knelt before her image there. 

If Ferris found her different from the other Hampton girls, Dorcasfound him equally different from the local swains she knew. Sherecognized his hidden strength. The maternal element in her naturesympathized with his loneliness and with the marks it had left upon hissoul. 

For the rest--he was neither a village cut-up like Con Skerly, nor asolemn mass of conceit like Royal Crews; nor patronizing like youngLawyer Wetherell; nor vaguely repulsive like old Cap'n Baldy Todd, whocame furtively a-courting her. Link was different. And she liked him. She liked him more and more. 

Once her parents took Dorcas and her five-year-old sister, Olive, on aSunday afternoon ramble, which led eventually to the Ferris farm. Linkwelcomed the chance callers gladly, and showed them over the place. Dorcas's housewifely eye rejoiced in the well-kept house, even whileshe frowned inwardly at its thousand signs of bachelor inefficiency. The stock and the crops, too, spoke of solid industry. 

But she shrank back in sudden revolt as a huge tawny collie camebounding toward her from the fold where he had just marshaled the sheepfor the night. The dog was beautiful. And he meant her no harm. He eventried shyly to make friends with the tall and grave-eyed guest. Dorcassaw all that. Yet she shrank from him with instinctive fear--in spiteof it. 

As a child she had been bitten--and bitten badly--by a nondescriptmongrel that had been chased into the Chatham backyard by a crowd ofstone-throwing boys, and which she had sought to oust with a stick fromits hiding place under the steps. Since then Dorcas had had anunconquerable fear and dislike of dogs. The feeling was unconquerablebecause she had made no effort to conquer it. She had henceforth judgedall dogs by the one whose teeth marks had left a lifelong scar on herwhite forearm. 

She had the good breeding not to let Ferris see her distaste for hispet that he was just then exhibiting so proudly to the guests. Hershrinking was imperceptible, even to a lover's solicitous eye. But Chumnoted it. And with a collie's odd sixth sense he knew this intruder didnot like him. 

Not that her aversion troubled Chum at all; but it puzzled him. Peopleas a rule were effusively eager to make friends with Chum. And--beingultraconservative, like the best type of collie--he found theirhandling and other attentions annoying. He had taken a liking toDorcas, at sight. But since she did not return this liking Chum waswell content to keep away from her. 

He was the more content, because five-year-old Olive had flung herself, with loud squeals of rapture, bodily on the dog; and had clasped herfat little arms adoringly round his massive furry throat in an ecstasyof delight. 

Chum had never before been brought into such close contact with achild. And Link watched with some slight perturbation the baby'sonslaught. But in a moment Ferris's mind was at rest. 

At first touch of the baby's fingers the collie had become once and forall Olive's slave. He fairly reveled in the discomfortingly tightcaress. The tug of the little hands in his sensitive neck fur was blissto him. Wiggling all over with happiness he sought to lick the chubbyface pressed so tight against his ruff. From that instant Chum had adivided allegiance. His human god was Ferris. But this fluffypink-and-white youngster was a mighty close second in his list ofdeities. 

Dorcas looked on, trembling with fear; as her little sister romped withthe adoring dog. And she heaved a sigh of relief when at last they wereclear of the farm without mishap to the baby. For Olive had been dearerto Dorcas, from birth, than anyone or anything else on earth. To thebaby sister alone Dorcas ceased to be the grave-eyed and self-assuredLady of Quality, and became a meek and worshiping devotee. 

When Link Ferris at last mustered courage to ask Dorcas Chatham tomarry him his form of proposal would have been ruled out of any novelor play. It consisted chiefly of a mouthful of half-swallowed, half-exploded words, spoken all in one panic breath, to theaccompaniment of a mortal fear that shook him to the marrow. 

Any other words, thus mouthed and gargled, would have required a fullcollege of languages to translate them. But the speech was along a lineperfectly familiar to every woman since Eve. And Dorcas understood. Shewould have understood had Link voiced his proposal in the Choctawdialect instead of a slurringly mumbled travesty on English. 

The man's stark earnestness of entreaty sent a queer flutter to thevery depths of her calm soul. But the flutter failed to reach or totitillate the steady eyes. Nor did it creep into the level andself-possessed voice, as Dorcas made quiet answer:

"Yes. I like you better than any other man I know. And I'll marry you, if you're perfectly sure you care for me that way. "

No, it was not the sort of reply Juliet made to the same question. Itis more than doubtful that Cleopatra answered thus, when Antony offeredto throw away the world for her sake. But it was a wholly correct andself-respecting response. And Dorcas had been rehearsing it for nearlya week. 

Moreover, words are of use, merely as they affect their hearers. Andall the passion poetry of men and of angels could not have thrilledLink Ferris as did Dorcas's correct and demure assent to his frenziedlygabbled plea. It went through the lovesick man's brain and heart likethe breath of God. 

And thus the couple became engaged. 

With only a slight diminishing of his earlier fear did Link seek outOld Man Chatham to obtain his consent to the match. Dizzy with joy andrelief he listened to that village worthy's ungracious assent alsosecretly rehearsed for some days. 

For the best part of a month thereafter Link Ferris floated through auniverse of roseate lights and soft music. 

Then came the jar of awakening. 

It was one Saturday evening, a week or so before the date set for thewedding. Dorcas broached a theme which had been much in her mind sincethe beginning of the engagement. She approached it very tactfullyindeed, leading up to it in true feminine fashion by means of acunningly devised series of levels which would have been the despair ofa mining engineer. Having paved the way she remarked carelessly:

"John Iglehart was at the store to-day, father says. He's crazy aboutthat big collie of yours. "

Instantly Link was full of glad interest. It had been a sorrow to himthat Dorcas did not like dogs. She had explained her dislike--purely ongeneral principles--early in their acquaintance, and had told him ofits origin. Link was certain she would come to love Chum, on intimateacquaintance. In the interim he did not seek to force her liking bybringing the collie to the Chatham house when he called. 

Link did not believe in crossing a bridge until he came to it. Therewould be plenty of time for Dorcas to make friends with Chum in thelong and happy days to come. Yet, now, he rejoiced that she herselfshould have been the first to broach the subject. 

"Father says John is wild about Chum, " went on the girl unconcernedly;adding, "By the way, John asked father to tell you he'd be glad to payyou $100 for the dog. It's a splendid offer, isn't it! Think of all thethings we can get for the house with $100, Link! Why, it seems almostprovidential, doesn't it? Father says John is in earnest about it too. He--"

"In earnest, hey!" snapped Ferris, finding his voice after an instantof utter amazement. "In EARNEST! Well, that's real grand of him, ain'tit! I'd be in earnest, too, if I was to bid ten cents for the best farmin Passaic County. But the feller who owned the farm wouldn't be inearnest. He'd be taking it as a fine joke. Like I do, when JohnnyIglehart has the nerve to offer $100 for a dog that wouldn't be worth acent less'n $600--even if he was for sale. Why, that collie of mine--"

"If he is worth $600, " suggested Dorcas icily, "you'd better not loseany time before you find someone who will pay that for him. He's no useto us. And $600 is too much money to carry on four legs. He--"

"No use to us?" echoed Link. "Why, Chum's worth the pay of a hired manto me, besides all the fondness I've got for him! He handles the sheep, and he--"

"So you've told me, " interposed Dorcas with no show of interest. "Iremember the first few times you came to see me you didn't talk ofanything else, hardly, except that dog. Everybody says the same thing. It's a joke all through Hampton, the silly way you're forever singinghis praises. "

"Why shouldn't I?" demanded Link sturdily. "There's not a dandier, better pal anywhere, than what Chum's been to me. He--"

"Yes, yes, " assented Dorcas, "I know. I don't doubt it. But, after all, he's only a dog, you know. And if you can get a good price for him, asyou say, then the only thing to do is to sell him. In hard times likethese--"

"Times ain't hard, " denied Link tersely. "And Chum ain't for sale. That's all there is to it. "

If one of her father's sleek cart horses had suddenly walked out of itsstall with a shouted demand that it be allowed to do the driving, henceforth, and that its owners do the hauling, Dorcas Chatham couldnot have been much more surprised than at this unlooked-for speech fromher humble suitor. 

Up to now, Link Ferris had treated the girl as though he were unworthyto breathe the same air as herself. He had been pathetically eager toconcede any and every mooted point to her, with a servile abasementwhich had roused her contempt, even while it had gratified her sense ofpower. 

She had approached with tact the subject of Chum's disposal. But shehad done so with a view to the saving of Link's feelings, not with thefaintest idea that her love-bemused slave could venture to oppose her. She knew his fondness for the dog and she had not wished to bringmatters to an issue, if tact would serve as well. 

To punish her serf and to crush rebellion once and for all, as well asto be avenged for her wasted diplomacy, Dorcas cast aside her kindlierintent and drove straight to the point. Her calm temper was ruffled, and she spoke with a new heat:

"There is something you and I may as well settle, here and now, Link, "she said. "It will save bickerings and misunderstandings, later on. I've told you how I hate dogs. They are savage and treacherous and--"

"Chum ain't!" declared Link stoutly. 

"Why, that dog--"

"I hate dogs, " she went on, "and I'm horribly afraid of them. I won'tlive in the same house with one. I don't want to hurt your feelings, Link, but you'll have to get rid of that great brown brute before youmarry me. That is positive. So please let's say no more about it. "

The man was staring at her with under jaw ajar. Her sharp air offinality grated on his every nerve. Her ultimatum concerning Chum lefthim dumfounded. But he forced himself to rally to the defense. 

This glorious sweetheart of his did not understand dogs. He had hopedto teach her later to like and appreciate them. But apparently she mustbe taught at once that Chum could not be sold and that the collie mustremain an honored member of the Ferris household. Marshaling his factsand his words, he said:

"I never told you about the time I was coming back home one night fromthe tavern here at Hampton, after I'd just cashed my pay check from thePat'son market. I've never blabbed much about it, because I was drunk. Yes, it was back in them days. Just after I'd got Chum. A couple offellers had got me drunk. And they set on me in a lonesome patch of theroad by the lake; and they had me down and was taking the money awayfrom me, when Chum sailed into them and druv them off. He had folleredme, without me knowing. In the scrimmage I got tumbled headfirst intothe lake. I was too drunk to get out, and my head was stuck in the mud, 'way under water. I'd 'a' drowned if Chum hadn't of pulled me out withhis teeth in the shoulder of my coat. And that's the dog you're wantingme to sell?"

"You aren't likely to need such help again, I hope, " countered the girlloftily, "now that you have stopped drinking and made a man ofyourself. So Chum won't be needed for--"

"I stopped drinking, " answered Link, "because I got to seeing how muchmore of a beast I was than the fine clean dog that was living with me. He made me feel 'shamed of myself. And he was such good comp'ny roundthe house that I didn't get lonesome enough to sneak down to the tavernall the time. It wasn't me that 'made a man of myself. ' It was Chummade a man of me. Maybe that sounds foolish to you. But--"

"It does, " said Dorcas serenely. "Very foolish indeed. You don't seemto realize that a dog is only an animal. If you can get a nice home forthe collie--such as John Iglehart will give him--"

"Iglehart!" raged Link, momentarily losing hold over himself. "If thatmangy, wall-eyed slob comes slinking round my farm again, makingfriends with Chum, I'll sick the dog onto him; and have him runIglehart all the way to his own shack! He's--! There! I didn't mean tocut loose like that!" he broke off at Dorcas's shudder of dismay. "Onlyit riles me something terrible to have him trying to get Chum away fromme. "

"There is no occasion to go losing your temper and shouting, " reprovedthe girl. "Nothing is to be gained that way. Besides, that isn't thepoint. The point is this, since you force me to say it: You must getrid of that dog. And you must do it before you marry me. I won't setfoot in your house until your dog is gone--and gone for good. I amsorry to speak so, but it had to be said. "

She paused to give her slave a chance to wilt. But Link only sat, blank-faced, staring at her. His mind was in a muddle. All his narrowworld was upside down. He couldn't make his brain grasp in full thesituation. 

All he could visualize for the instant was a shadowy mental image ofChum's expectant face; the tulip ears pricked forward, expectant; thejaws "laughing"; the deepset brown eyes abrim with gay affection anddeathless loyalty for the man who was now asked to get rid of him. Itdidn't make sense. Half under his breath Link Ferris began to talk--orrather to ramble. 

"There was one of the books over to the lib'ry, " he heard himselfmeandering on, "with a queer story in it. I got to reading it through, one night last winter. It was about a feller named 'Fed'rigo. ' A wop ofsome kind, I guess. He got so hard up he didn't have anything left buta pet falcon. Whatever a falcon may be. Whatever it was, it must'abeen good to eat. But he set a heap of store by it. Him and it waschums. Same as me and Chum are. Then along come a lady he was in lovewith. And she stopped to his house for dinner. There wasn't anything inthe house fit for her to eat. So he fed her the falcon. Killed the petthat was his chum, so's he could feed the dame he was stuck on. Ithought, when I read it, that that feller was more kinds of a swinethan I'd have time to tell you. But he wasn't any worse'n I'd be if Iwas to--"

"I'm sorry you care so little for me, " intervened Dorcas, her voicevery sweet and very cold, and her slender nose whitening a little atthe corners of the nostrils. "Of course if you prefer a miserable dogto me, there's nothing more to be said. I--"

"No!" almost yelled the miserable man. "You've got me all wrong, dearie. Honest, you have. Can't you understand? Your little fingermeans a heap more to me than ev'rything else there is--except the restof you--"

"And your dog, " she supplemented. 

"No!" he denied fiercely. "You got no right to say that! But Chum'sserved me faithful. And I can't kick him out like he was a--"

"Now you are getting angry again!" she accused, pale and furious. "Idon't care to be howled at. The case stands like this: You must choosewhether to get rid of that dog or to lose me. Take your choice. If--"

"I read in a story book about a feller that had a thing like that putup to him, " said poor Link, unable to believe she was in earnest. "Hisgirl said: 'You gotta choose between me and tobacco. ' And he said:'I'll choose tobacco. Not that I value tobacco so all-fired much, ' hesays, 'but because a girl, who'd make a man take such a choice, ain'tworth giving up tobacco for. ' You see, dearie, it's this way--"

"You'll have that dog out of your house and out of your possession, inside of twenty-four hours, " she decreed, the white anger of agrave-eyed woman making her cold voice vibrate, "or you will drop myacquaintance. That is final. And it's definite. The engagement isover--until I hear that your dog is killed or given away or sold. Goodnight!"

She left the room in vindictive haste. So overwhelmingly angry was shethat she closed the door softly behind her, instead of slamming it. Through all his swirl of misery Link had sense enough to note thisfinal symptom and wonder bitterly at it. 

On his way out of the house he was hailed by a highpitched baby voicefrom somewhere above him. Olive had crawled out of bed, and in herwhite flannel pajamas she was leaning over the upper balustrade. 

"Link!" she called down to the wretched man at the front door. "Whenyou and Dorcas gets married together, I'm comin' to live wiv you! ThenI can play wiv Chummie all I want to!"

Link bolted out to the street in the midst of her announcement. And, sooccupied was he in trying to swallow a lump in his own throat, hefailed to hear the sound of stifled sobbing from behind a locked doorsomewhere in the upper reaches of the house. 

As the night wore on, the sleepless girl sought to comfort herself inthe thought that Link had not definitely refused her terms. A night'sreflection and an attitude of unbending aloofness on her own part mightwell bring him to a surrender. 

Perhaps it was something in Link Ferris's dejected gait, as he turnedinto his own lane that night, perhaps it was the instinct which tells acollie when a loved human is unhappy--but Chum was at once aware of hismaster's woe. The dog, at first sound of Link's approaching steps, bounded from his vigil place on the porch and frisked joyously throughthe darkness to meet him. He sent forth a trumpeting bark of welcome ashe ran. 

Then--fifty feet from the oncoming man--the big collie halted and stoodfor an instant with ears cocked and eyes troubled. After which heresumed his advance; but at a solemn trot and with downcast mien. As hereached Link, the collie whined softly under his breath, gazingwistfully up into Ferris's face and then thrusting his cold noselovingly into one of the man's loose-hanging hands. 

Link had winced visibly at sound of the jubilantly welcoming bark. Now, noting the sudden change in the collie's demeanor, he stooped andcaught the silken head between his hands. The gesture was rough, almostpainful. Yet Chum knew it was a caress. And his drooping plume of atail began to wag in response. 

"Oh, CHUM!" exclaimed the man with something akin to a groan. "You knowall about it, don't you, old friend? You know I'm the miser'blest manin North Jersey. You know it without me having to say a word. Andyou're doing your level best to comfort me. Just like you always do. You never get cranky; and you never say I gotta choose betwixt this andthat; and you never get sore at me. You're just my chum. And you'refool enough to think I'm all right. Yet she says I gotta get rid ofyou!"

The dog pressed closer to him, still whining softly and licking theroughly caressing hands. 

"What'm I going to do, Chummie?" demanded Link brokenly. "What'm Igoing to do about it? I s'pose any other feller'd call me a fool--likeshe thinks I am and tell me to sell you. If you was some dogs, that'dbe all right. But not with YOU, Chum. Not with you. You'd mope andgrieve for me, and you'd be wond'ring why I'd deserted you after allthese years. And you'd get to pining and maybe go sick. And the fellerthat bought you wouldn't understand. And most likely he'd whale you fornot being more chipper-like. And you haven't ever been hit. I'd--I'd ablame' sight sooner shoot you, than to let anyone else have you, toabuse you and let you be unhappy for me, Chum. A blame' sight rather. "

Side by side they moved on into the darkened house. There, with the dogcurled at his feet, Link Ferris lay broad awake until sunrise. 

Early the next afternoon Dorcas decided she stood in need of brisk, outdoor exercise. Olive came running down the path after her, eagerlydemanding to be taken along. Dorcas with much sternness bade her goback. She wanted to be alone, unless--But she refused to admit toherself that there was any "unless. "

Olive, grievously disappointed, stood on the steps, watching her bigsister set off up the road. She saw Dorcas take the righthand turn atthe fork. The baby's face cleared. Now she knew in which directionDorcas was going. That fork led to the Glen. And the Glen was afavorite Sunday afternoon ramble for Link and Chum. Olive knew that, because she and Dorcas more than once had walked thither to meet them. 

Olive was pleasantly forgetful of her parents' positive command thatshe refrain from walking alone on the motor-infested Sunday roads. Sheset off at a fast jog trot over the nearby hill, on whose other sideran the Glen road. 

Link Ferris, with Chum at his heels, was tramping moodily toward theGlen. As he turned into the road he paused in his sullen walk. There, strolling unconcernedly, some yards in front of him, was a tall girl inwhite. Her back was toward him. Yet he would have recognized her at ahundred times the distance. Chum knew her, too, for he wagged his tailand started at a faster trot to overtake her. 

"Back!" called Link. 

Purposely he spoke as low as possible. But the dog heard and obeyed. The girl, too, started a little, and made as if to turn. Just thenensued a wild crackling in the thick roadside bushes which lined thehillside from highway to crest. And a white-clad little bunch ofhumanity came galloping jubilantly out into the road, midway betweenDorcas and Link. 

At the road edge Olive's stubby toe caught in a noose of blackberryvine. As the youngster was running full tilt, her own impetus sent herrolling over and over into the center of the dusty turnpike. 

Before she could get to her feet or even stop rolling, a touring carcame round the bend, ten yards away--a car that was traveling at aspeed of something like forty-five miles an hour, and whose fouroccupants were singing at the top of their lungs. 

Link Ferris had scarce time to tense his muscles for a futilespring--Dorcas's scream of helpless terror was still unborn--when thecar was upon the prostrate child. 

And in the same fraction of a second a furry catapult launched itselfacross the wide road at a speed that made it look like tawny blur. 

Chum's mad leap carried him to the baby just as the car's fender hungabove her. A slashing grip of his teeth in the shoulder of her whitedress and a lightning heave of his mighty neck and shoulders--and thelittle form was hurtling through the air and into the weed-filledwayside ditch. 

In practically the same instant Chum's body whizzed into the air again. But this time by no impetus of its own. The high-powered car's fenderhad struck it fair, and had tossed it into the ditch as though the doghad been a heap of rags. 

There--huddled and lifeless--sprawled the beautiful collie. The car puton an extra spurt of speed and disappeared round the next turn. 

Olive was on her feet before Dorcas's flying steps could reach her. Unhurt but vastly indignant, the baby opened her mouth to make way fora series of howls. Then, her eye falling on the inert dog, she ran overto Chum and began to cry out to him to come to life again. 

"No use of that, kid!" interposed Link, kneeling beside the collie heloved and smoothing the soiled and rumpled fur. "It's easier to dropout of life than what it is to come back to it again. Well, " he went onharshly, turning to the weeping Dorcas, "the question has answereditself, you see. No need now to tell me to get rid of him. He's savedme the bother. Like he was always saving me bother. That being Chum'sway. "

Something in his throat impeded his fierce speech. And he bent overthe dog again, his rough hands smoothing the pitifully still body withloving tenderness. Dorcas, weeping hysterically, fell on her kneesbeside Chum and put her arms about the huddled shape. She seemed to betrying to say something, her lips close to one of the furry little ears. 

"No use!" broke in Ferris, his voice as grating as a file's. "He can'thear you now. No good to tell him you hate dogs; or that you're gladyou've saw the last of him. Even if he was alive, he wouldn'tunderstand that. He'd never been spoke to that way. "

"Don't! Oh, don't!" sobbed the girl. "Oh, I'm so--"

"If you're crying for Chum, " went on the grating voice, "there's noneed to. He was only just a dog. He didn't know any better but to gethis life smashed out'n him, so somebody else could go on living. All heasked was to be with me and work for me and love me. After you said hecouldn't keep on doing that, there ain't any good in your crying forhim. It must be nice--if you'll only stop crying long enough to thinkof it--to know he's out of your way. And I'M out of it too!" he went onin a gust of fury. "S'pose you two just toddle on, now, and leave me totake him home. I got the right to that, anyhow. "

He stooped to pick up the dog; and he winked with much rapidity to holdback an annoying mist which came between him and Chum. His mouthcorners, too, were twitching in a way that shamed him. He had a babyishyearning to bury his face in his dead friend's fur, and cry. 

"DON'T!" Dorcas was wailing. "Oh, you can't punish me any worse thanI'm--"

Her sob-broken voice scaled high and swelled out into a cry of starkastonishment. Slowly Chum was lifting his splendid head and blinkingstupidly about him!

The fender had smitten the collie just below the shoulder, in a mass offur-armored muscles. In falling into the wayside ditch his skull hadcome into sharp contact with a rock. Knocked senseless by theconcussion, he had lain as dead, for the best part of five minutes. After which he had come slowly to his senses--bewildered, bruised andsore, but otherwise no worse for the accident. 

He came to himself to find a weeping woman clutching him stranglinglyround the neck, while she tried to kiss his dust-smeared head. 

Chum did not care at all for this treatment, especially from acomparative stranger. But he saw his adored master looking soidiotically happy--over that or something else--that the dog forbore toprotest. 

"If you really wanted him put out of the way so bad--" began Link, whenhe could trust himself to speak. 

He got no further. Dorcas Chatham turned on him in genuine savageness. The big eyes were no longer grave and patronizing. The air of aloofnesshad fallen from the girl like a discarded garment. 

"Link!" she blazed. "Link Ferris! If you ever dare speak about gettingrid of--of MY dog, --I'll--I'll never speak to you again, as long as--aslong as we're married!"

THE END