daily paper and scanned it for word of a missing dog. But in
neither copy did he find what he sought.

True, both editions carried display advertisements which offered
a seventy-five dollar reward for information leading to the
return of a "dark-sable-and-white collie lost somewhere between
Hohokus and Suffern."

The first time he saw this notice Link was vaguely troubled lest
it might refer to Chum. He told himself he hoped it did. For
seventy-five dollars just now would be a godsend. And in
self-disgust he choked back a most annoying twinge of grief at
thought of parting with the dog.

Two things in the advertisement puzzled him. In the first place,
as Chum was longhaired and graceful, Link had mentally classified
him as belonging to the same breed as did the setters which
accompanied hunters on mountain rambles past his farm in the
autumns. Being wholly unversed in canine lore, he had, therefore,
classified Chum as a "bird dog". The word "collie", if ever he
had chanced to hear it before, carried no meaning to him.

Moreover, he did not know what "sable" meant. He asked Dominie
Jansen, whom he met on the way home. And the dominie told him
"sable" was another name for "black." Jansen went on to amplify
the theme, dictionary-fashion, by quoting a piece of sacred
poetry about "the sable wings of night."

A great load was off Link's heart. Chum, most assuredly, was not
black and white. So the advertisement could not possibly refer to