lled out languidly. Then perceiving the
matter she hastily followed. The Appleboys were standing on their lawn
viewing the whole proceeding with ostentatious indifference.

Up the beach fled Tunnygate, his cries becoming fainter and fainter. The
two clam diggers watched him curiously, but made no attempt to go to his
assistance. The man in the field leaned luxuriously upon his hoe and
surrendered himself to unalloyed delight. Tunnygate was now but a white
flicker against the distant sand. His wails had a dying fall:
"O--o--oh!"

"Well, we warned him!" remarked Mr. Appleboy to Bashemath with a smile
in which, however, lurked a slight trace of apprehension.

"We certainly did!" she replied. Then after a moment she added a trifle
anxiously: "I wonder what will happen to Andrew!"

Tunnygate did not return. Neither did Andrew. Secluded in their kitchen
living-room the Appleboys heard a motor arrive and through a crack in
the door saw it carry Mrs. Tunnygate away bedecked as for some momentous
ceremonial. At four o'clock, while Appleboy was digging bait, he
observed another motor making its wriggly way along the dunes. It was
fitted longitudinally with seats, had a wire grating and was marked
"N.Y.P.D." Two policemen in uniform sat in front. Instinctively Appleboy
realized that the gods had called him. His heart sank among the clams.
Slowly he made his way back to the lawn where the wagon had stopped
outside the hedge.

"Hey there!" called out the driver. "Is your name Appleboy?"

Appleboy nodded.

"Put your coat on, then, and come along," directed the other. "I've got
a warrant for you."

"Warrant?" stammered Appleboy dizzily.

"What's that?" cried Bashemath, appearing at the door. "Warrant for
what?"

The officer slowly descended and handed Appleboy a paper.

"For assault," he replied. "I guess you know what for, all right!"

"We haven't assaulted anybody," protested Mrs. Appleboy heatedly.
"Andrew--"

"You can explain all that to the judge," retorted the cop. "Meantime put
on your duds and climb in. If you don't expect to spend the night at the
station you'd better bring along the deed of your house so you can give
bail."

"But who's the warrant for?" persisted Mrs. Appleboy.

"For Enoch Appleboy," retorted the cop wearily. "Can't you read?"

"But Enoch didn't do a thing!" she declared. "It was Andrew!"

"Who's Andrew?" inquired the officer of the law mistrustfully.

"Andrew's a dog," she explained.