Now, there was nothing remarkable in the fact that the chromatic
lass had squealed. Indeed, she and her equally fair companion had
been squealing at intervals, all morning. But there was nothing
coquettish or gay about this particular squeal. It savored rather
of a screech. In its shrill note was a tiny thread of terror. And
the two men wheeled about, to look.

The blue-hatted girl had paused in her dainty labor of helping to
spread out the lunch; in order to peep inquisitively up the slope
toward the tree-framed house above. It might be fun, after
eating, to stroll up there and squint in through the veranda
windows; or,--if no one was at home, to gather an armful of the
roses that clambered over one end of the porch.

During that brief exploratory glance, her eye had been caught by
something moving through the woods beyond.

Behind the house, these woods ran up to the highroad, a furlong
above. A driveway led twistingly down from the gate-lodge, to the
house. Along this drive, was pacing a dog.

As the girl caught sight of him, the dog halted in his lazy
stroll and stood eagerly erect, his nose upraised, his tulip ears
pricked. Sound or scent, or both, had been arrested by some
unusual presence. And he paused to verify the warning.

As he stood there, an instant, in the shade-flecked driveway, the
girl saw he was a collie; massive, graceful, majestic; in the
full strength of his early prime; his shaggy coat of burnished