reath of air brought to his nose from the
building a smell unlike any that rises from woods or fields. Nose
quivering, he noted it carefully, catalogued in it that strange variety
of things his nose told him. He would never forget that smell or its
associations.

Earle came out at last--came out alone. They drove home together. Aunt
Cindy cooked supper for them. Afterward the dog stayed on the front
porch, where Earle smoked one silent pipe after another, then knocked
the ashes out on the banisters and went into the house. The dog heard
him telephoning; heard the names Marian and Tommy; listened till it was
over, then came down the steps and strolled round the house. A thin wisp
of new moon, before it set that night, looked mildly down on him curled
up in a bundle at the foot of a little wagon out by the garage.

Next afternoon before he left Earle chained him to his kennel.

"Guess I better," he apologized.

Aunt Cindy, who had watched the performance, shook her head.

"Dat dawg knows," she declared; "he shorely knows!"

"I should think," said Earle, rising, "the way the boy worries him, he
would be glad of a little peace."

"Well, he like grown folks, Mr. Steve, he love to be bothered by
chillun. Dis place daid widout dat boy. Lorsy, lorsy!"

Earle drove off in the car and the old woman went into the house.
Usually she sang as she waddled about her work--now she was silent. All
afternoon the dog lay, nose pointed toward the distant city. He could
see across the orchard where one day not long before Tommy had picked up
June apples off the ground and put them in a basket, down the hill to
the creek bottoms. He could see the creek itself flashing here and there
through clumps of trees, the creek where Tommy used to throw sticks for
him to fetch. He spent his captivity in dignified resentment.

But he quickly forgot his grievance when at dusk he heard the hum of the
returning car. He ran as far as he could to meet it, his tail slapping
the taut chain. When Earle drove into the yard and turned him loose he
ran to the car, he jumped up on the running board; he stared at the
empty back seat.

"Nothing doing, old man," said Earle gently as he turned away.

So the strange days passed. Every morning he followed Earle about the
plantation; every afternoon he was chained up; every evening he was
given his freedom till next day. Things did not mend. Earle grew more
silent, his conferences with Aunt Cindy briefer, the w