He dropped the chain; both conspirators looked up with a jerk. Earle's
face was poked over the banisters above them.

"Nuffin!" The lie was shiveringly spoken.

"Come in the house, sir."

The mother came out and caught the boy by the hand. Her face was
distressed. She cast a pitying look at the dog; then she pulled his
would-be rescuer away.

"Ain't he our dog?" pleaded Tommy.

"No, dearest, he belongs to Mrs. Lancaster."

"Well, I can take him a jink of water, can't I?"

"He doesn't want any water."

The dog heard the little shoes hit each step twice. Of all the
depressing signs of that depressing morning, the last protesting wail as
the front door smothered it was the most ominous. Defeated, humbled, the
dog slunk back underneath the porch.

But at sight of the hated buggy, he plunged and charged, frothing like a
mad dog, running backward, trying to jerk the collar over his head,
rolling over and over in his frantic struggles. Not until people were
grouped above him did he grow quiet. Then when his former mistress
stooped down and petted him, he begged her with his eyes as he had
begged her in that other life, and knew, as he had known then, that she
did not understand.

"I wonder what's the matter with him?" she said.

"It's plain enough what's the matter," replied Lancaster.

"Would you sell him?" asked Earle eagerly.

She straightened up. "No, indeed; we would not think of that."

"Then," said Earle wearily, "suppose we go in to the fire. You have a
couple of hours to wait."

But he and Lancaster lingered near the porch while the women went into
the house.

"I've just learned," Lancaster was saying, "that this is the plantation
where the field trials are run. Have you thought of entering Dan?"

"No," said Earle. "Frank's an old-fashioned shooting dog. The greatest
one I ever saw. He doesn't seem to have had field trial training."

Lancaster laughed. "Between you and me, until he came out here, most of
his training was designed to fit him for a lap dog."

They went into the house, still talking.

The dog heard chairs dragged across the living-room floor. He slunk
again underneath the porch. Then he heard a scraping sound behind him,
and turned quickly about with pricked ears. Under the house, from the
direction of the kitchen, Tommy Earle was crawling toward him on hands
and knees.

The boy lost no time. He sat up straddle-legged like a tailor, and
pulled the dog's head on his knee. Frank