saw the lights and heard the engine-purr of one of them,
coming toward him, down the road, he dodged back into the
wayside hedge until it passed. Which is the reason Milo
Standish failed to see the dog he had been hunting for.

A little later, Brice's scent became so distinct that the
collie could abandon his nose-to-the-ground tactics and strike
across country, by dead-reckoning, guided not only by his nose
but by the sound of Gavin's steps. Then, in an access of
delight, he burst upon the plodding man.

"Why, Bobby!" exclaimed Brice, touched by the dog's rapture in
having found him again. "Why, Bobby Burns! What on earth
made you follow me? Don't you know I'm not your master?
Don't you, Bobby?"

He was petting the frisking collie as he talked. But now he
faced about.

"I've got to take you back to her, old man!" he informed the
highly interested dog. "You belong to her. And she'll worry
about you. I'll just take you into the dooryard or to the
front lawn or whatever it is, and tie you there, so some one
will find you. I don't want to get my plans all messed up by
another talk with her, to-night. It's a mean trick to play on
you, after you've taken all the trouble to follow me. But
you're hers. After this rotten business is all over, maybe
I'll try to buy you. It's worth ninety per cent of your value
to have had you pick me out for your master. Any man with
cash enough can be a dog's owner, Bobby. But all the cash in