like to be kept expectant; he grew excited
when he had to wait. He had worn a place on the door where he scratched.
Suddenly he turned his head sideways, intently listening, for someone
had opened the living-room door. He began to pant, and his eyes glowed
with gratitude. That step coming down the hall--he would know it
anywhere. He could hardly wait now.

The door opened and he looked up past broad shoulders into kindly gray
eyes. His ears flattened with reverence, even while his eyes shone with
comradeship.

"Come in, old man," said Steve Earle--he always said just that.

Frank stopped before the living-room door, and looked up at his master.
He had to depend on human beings in matters like the opening of doors.
And now he was in the living room, where a fire of oak logs roared up
the chimney. Overwhelming joy seized him that he should be in here. He
ran to Marian Earle and laid his head on her lap, looking up into her
face; then to Tommy Earle, the boy, who caught hold of his heavy red
mane. They were all smiling at him.

He grew embarrassed and poked his head against the shirt bosom of the
boy. He sat down before his mistress and raised his paw to shake hands.
He wanted to show them in some way that he was grateful for all this.
Then he looked around the room and his long silken-red ears drooped.

For this morning was different from other mornings. People were looking
down at him in a different way. Not only that, but Lancaster, his
master's friend who lived in New York and who had driven out
unexpectedly yesterday from Breton Junction, stood before the fire,
overcoat over his arm, satchel at his feet. Then he saw on the table his
collar and chain. And now old Frank knew--knew he was going on a
journey.

But more than that he knew, for his was the wisdom of the seasoned bird
dog. Steve Earle's overcoat hung on the hat rack in the hall. His
favourite gun was over yonder in the corner, the hunting coat draped
over it. Steve Earle was not going.

It was this that made him look with vaguely troubled eyes into the faces
of master and mistress and boy. It was this which filled him with
foreboding.

"I don't believe," Lancaster was smiling down at him, "I don't believe
he's very keen about going, Steve."

"Oh, Frank'll be all right," laughed Earle. "He's a good scout. Just had
a sort of exiled feeling for a moment. He's a countryman like the rest
of us. He doesn't like to leave home. I'm glad for him to go. He'l