So, tiring at last of solitude, the collie had leaped lightly out
of the nearest window. The window had been open. Its thin
mosquito net covering had not served in the least as a deterrent
to the departing Chum.

To pick up his master's trail--and to hold to it even when it
merged with a score of others at the edge of the village--had
been absurdly simple. The trail had led to a house with closed
doors. So, after circling the tavern to find if his master had
gone out by any other exit, Chum had curled himself patiently on
the doorstep and had waited for Link to emerge.

Several people had come in and out while he lay there. But all of
them had shut the door too soon for him to slip inside.

At last Ferris had appeared between his two new friends. Chum had
been friskily happy to see his long-absent god again. He had
sprung forward to greet Link. Then, his odd collie sense had told
him that for some reason this staggering and hiccuping creature
was not the master whom he knew and loved. This man was strangely
different from the Link Ferris whom Chum knew.

Puzzled, the dog had halted and had stood irresolute. As he stood
there, Ferris had stumbled heavily over him, hurting the collie's
ribs and his tender flesh; and had meandered on without so much
as a word or a look for his pet.

Chum, still irresolute and bewildered, had followed at a distance
the swaying progress of the trio, until Link's yell and the
attack had brought him in furious haste to Ferris's rescue.