down and gripped the sodden wet shoulders of the constable. One
none-too-gentle heave, and Wefers was lying in a panting and
dripping heap on the clean dock. Lad, relieved of his heavy load,
swam leisurely around to shore. It had been a delightfully
thrilling day, thus far, for the collie. But he was just a bit
tired.

By the time the dazed constable was able to sit up and peer
owlishly into the unloving faces of the Mistress and the Master,
Lad had shaken himself thrice and was pattering across the dock
toward the group. From the two humans, Wefers' gaze shifted to
the oncoming dog. Then he glanced back at the sullen depths of
lake water beyond the string-piece. Then he let his head sink on
his chest. For perhaps a whole minute, he sat thus; his eyes
shut, his breath still fast and hysterical.

Nobody spoke. The Mistress looked down at the drenched man. Then
she winked at the equally silent Master, and laid a caressing
little hand on Lad's wet head. At length, Wefers lifted his face
and glowered at the trio. But, as his eye met Lad's quizzically
interested gaze, he fidgeted.

"Well?" prompted the Master, "do you want those cartridges back?"

Wefers favored him with a scowl of utter dislike. Then, his eyes
again averted, the wet man mumbled

"I come over here today, to do my dooty.--Dogs that get bit by
mad dogs had ought to be shot.--I come over here to do my dooty.
Likewise, I done it.--I shot that dog of yours that got bit,