Link had winced visibly at sound of the jubilantly welcoming
bark. Now, noting the sudden change in the collie's demeanor, he
stooped and caught the silken head between his hands. The gesture
was rough, almost painful. Yet Chum knew it was a caress. And his
drooping plume of a tail began to wag in response.

"Oh, CHUM!" exclaimed the man with something akin to a groan.
"You know all about it, don't you, old friend? You know I'm the
miser'blest man in North Jersey. You know it without me having to
say a word. And you're doing your level best to comfort me. Just
like you always do. You never get cranky; and you never say I
gotta choose betwixt this and that; and you never get sore at me.
You're just my chum. And you're fool enough to think I'm all
right. Yet she says I gotta get rid of you!"

The dog pressed closer to him, still whining softly and licking
the roughly caressing hands.

"What'm I going to do, Chummie?" demanded Link brokenly. "What'm
I going to do about it? I s'pose any other feller'd call me a
fool--like she thinks I am and tell me to sell you. If you was
some dogs, that'd be all right. But not with YOU, Chum. Not with
you. You'd mope and grieve for me, and you'd be wond'ring why I'd
deserted you after all these years. And you'd get to pining and
maybe go sick. And the feller that bought you wouldn't
understand. And most likely he'd whale you for not being more
chipper-like. And you haven't ever been hit. I'd--I'd a blame'
sight sooner shoot you, than to let anyone else have you, to
abuse you and let you be unhappy for me, Chum. A blame' sight
rather."