r a tin badge! I thought so. Now, my pink-whiskered friend, you'll
stop shouting and making faces; and you'll listen to me, a minute. You
aren't the first officer who has exceeded his authority on the chance
that people will think he's acting within his rights. This time the
bluff fails. With no warrant or summons or other legal power to back
him, a constable has no more right on my place than any negro
trespasser. What you may or may not be able to persuade some magistrate
to do about this, I don't know. But, for the present, you'll clear out.
Get that? I've warned you, in the presence of a witness. If you know
anything of law, you know that a landowner, after such warning, may
eject a trespasser by force. Go. And keep going. That's all."

Wefers sputtered wordlessly, from time to time, during the tirade. But
before its end, he fell silent and began to fidget. He himself was none
too well versed in the matter of his legal rights of intrusion. And,
for the moment, he had no chance to execute his errand. Later, armed
with a magistrate's order, he could pay back with interest his
humiliation of this morning. In the meantime--

"Gimme my gun!" he demanded in grouchy surrender.

The Master stooped; picked up the pistol, and held it in both hands.
Lad, all eagerness, stood dancingly waiting for him to throw it again.
But it was not thrown. Instead, the Master "broke" the weapon; shaking
the greasy cartridges out on to his own palm and then transferring them
to his pockets.

"In case of accidents," he explained, pleasantly, as he handed the
pistol back to its scowling owner. "And if you'll stop at the
post-office, this afternoon, you'll find these shells in an envelope in
your letter-box. Now, chase; unless you want Lad to escort you to your
boat. Lad is fine at escorting undesirables off the Place. Want to see
him perform?"

But Wefers did not answer. Snatching the impotent pistol and shoving it
back into his coattail pocket, he strode lakeward, muttering lurid
threats as he went.

The Mistress watched his lank figure on its way down the lawn to the
dock.

"It's-it's AWFUL!" she faltered, clutching at her husband's arm. "Oh,
you don't suppose he can--can really get leave to shoot Laddie, do you?"

"I don't know," answered the Master, as uneasy as she. "A mad-dog scare
has a way of throwing everybody into a fool panic. There's no knowing
what some magistrate may let him do. But one thing is mighty certain,"
he reass