d kennels in the rear.

Jim never saw the place without a touch of grave reminiscence. Here used
to come old Doctor Tolman from New York, to attend the field trials and
to hunt, and Jim had been his hunting companion. On just such mornings
as this he would join the doctor out here in the road. Before those
stone gate posts that marked the entrance to the grounds they had had
their last talk, eight years ago.

"Don't know when I'll get back, Jim," the doctor had said. "I can't
tramp around as I used to, and my practice gets heavier instead of
easing up. I want to say this, Jim: I've hunted with many a man, but
you're the best sport I ever went into the fields with. I'm going to
send you a pup. Call him 'Prince' if you want to. He's got a pedigree
like a king--goes back to the old country. He's good enough for you, and
you're good enough for him."

That winter, just before the news came of the doctor's death, Prince had
arrived at Breton Junction by express; a roly-poly puppy done up in a
crate and scared to death. Jim had reared him tenderly, taught him while
he was still a pup to retrieve and stand steady in the yard, taken him
into the fields when he was old enough, shown him what was necessary,
and left the rest to instinct. Season after season he had watched the
dog gain in wisdom and steadfastness. Now they understood one another as
only hunting man and hunting dog, who have been intimately associated
for years, can understand. Together they passed the club, old Prince
running contentedly ahead.

They were gone all day. First Jim called on Steve Earle, then on Squire
Kirby. Both lived seven miles away, but they were his best chance. The
Squire and his wife had gone to visit their children and would not be
back till Christmas. Steve Earle had left the day before for New York on
business.

He did not mention his troubles to Steve Earle's wife. He was not the
man to parade his perplexities before a woman. He turned back toward the
section where lived small farmers, like himself. It was dusk when he
returned home, Prince trotting with dejected tail at his heels, for
Prince had seen the troubled look in his master's eyes. One farmer after
another had turned Jim down. The country was poor, for one thing. But
for Kirby and Earle there were no large planters in it; and in this day
of high-priced cotton each small farmer was straining every nerve to
better his own fortunes.

"I'd like to, Jim," they had said, "but----