"Not to-night, Chummie. Stay here."

Obediently the big dog would lay himself down with a sigh on the
porch edge; his head between his white little forepaws; his
sorrowful brown eyes following the progress of his master down
the lane to the highroad.

But he grieved, as only a sensitive highbred dog can grieve--a
dog who asks nothing better of life than permission to live and
to die at the side of the man he has chosen as his god; to follow
that god out into rain or chill; to starve with him, if need be;
to suffer at his hands--in short, to do or to be anything except
to be separated from him.

Link Ferris had gotten into the habit of leaving Chum alone at
home, oftener and oftener of late, as his own evening absences
from the farm grew more and more frequent.

He left Chum at home because She did not like dogs.

"She" was Dorcas Chatham, the daughter of Hampton's postmaster
and general storekeeper.

Old Man Chatham in former days would have welcomed Cal Whitson,
the official village souse, to his home as readily as he would
have admitted the ne'er-do-well Link Ferris to that sanctuary.
But of late he had noted the growing improvement in Link's
fortunes, as evidenced by his larger store trade, his invariable
cash payments and the frequent money orders which went in his
name to the Paterson savings bank.