their same innocent, baby-blue expression and his brain was as
clear as a summer sky.

One Sunday forenoon, I was busy in the yard taking down my Saturday's
washing from the clothes line, when Jake's dog, Mike, came tearing
along the back path, making straight for me. That, in itself, was an
unusual thing, for Mike never showed any violent affection for any one
but Jake and he was more or less inclined to shun me altogether.

Now, he stood in front of me and barked. I kept on with my work. He
followed every step I took and kept on barking and yelping excitedly,
looking up into my face.

"What the dickens is the matter, old man?" I asked.

When he saw me interested in him, he turned and ran down toward the
beach. I did not follow.

He came back and went through the same performance. Then he got angry
and caught me by the foot of the overalls, trying to pull me in the
direction he wanted.

It struck me then that an old stager, like Mike was, would not
misbehave himself as he was doing for the mere fun of it. I left my
newly dried clothes and followed him. He ran on ahead and into my
boat, getting up on the side and barking toward Jake's place.

I became anxious. I pushed off hurriedly and rowed as hard as I could
up the Bay in the direction of the cove.

As I was turning in at Jake's landing, Mike grew excited again, running
to the right side of the stern and whining.

"What on earth can the dog mean?" I soliloquised, making up my mind to
call in at the shack first, at any rate, and investigate.

But Mike jumped out of the boat and swam off further up, turning back
to me every few yards and yelping.

The dog evidently knew more than I did, so I followed him.

He led me to Jake's favourite clam-hunting ground.

As soon as I turned into that little cove, I saw my old helper lying on
his back on the beach. I pulled in and hurried over to him.

The dog was there before me, his tongue out and his tail wagging as if
to say:

"It is all right now."

The old man's eyes were wide open and glazed. He was blowing
stentoriously through his closed mouth and a white ooze was on the
corners of his lips. His body was tense and rigid, as if it had been
frozen solid in the Arctic snows.

Poor old Jake! I knew what had seized him. I had seen something of
the trouble before.

I lifted him gently and carried him into the boat, pushing off and
rowing as quickly as possible for his home.

I got him into bed