"Why, I don't suppose they can swap them, do you?" Carolyn replied, using an expression she had picked up from her longshore friends. "A right leg wouldn't fit on a left stump, would it?" "Why not?" demanded Edna, inclined to argue the point. Just then Prince, who had run around a spur of the hill, began to bark. A high-pitched, explosive voice was raised, warning the dog off: "Don't you come a-nigh me, you pesky critter you! Git out!" "Oh, dear me!" gasped Carolyn. "There's Mr. Oly Littlefield now--and he's _mad_. Prince!" she shrieked, and set off for the hidden spot where the cockatoo man and the mongrel had clashed. The path led up behind the fisherman's shanty and around the spur of the sand hill. In half a minute the two little girls were in sight of the wrangle. Prince was bounding about the angry, red-faced old fellow, and barking. The cockatoo man was endeavouring to reach the dog with his cane. Suddenly he over-reached himself in trying to hit Prince, and to save his balance, dropped the basket of groceries with which he had evidently walked from the Center, where the nearest store was. The basket turned over and spilled out every package in it; and some of the packages burst. A hail of beans went hopping down the slant of the hill. Ground coffee, sugar, flour and what looked like hominy-grits mixed with the sand for yards around. Four lemons bounded down the hill, and Prince gave chase, perhaps thinking they were yellow rats. "Prince! Prince, you behave!" cried Carolyn May. "Dancin' Doolittles!" yelled Mr. Oly Littlefield. "Will ye look at that now? Ev'rything broke loose an' cast adrift. I vow! if they could, I wish't them lemons would p'ison that dratted dog. What'll Ozy say to this mess?" Again he made a rush at Prince, who had returned at his mistress' call. Carolyn cried out again, for the heavy cane came near to hitting the dog. But disaster rode fast upon the old fellow's incautious attack. His wooden leg sank into the sand beside the path, and Mr. Littlefield was all but pitched headlong down the hill. To save himself he threw his body sideways and wrenched the leg free. But that was only a momentary help. He could not regain his balance, and the force with which he dragged the wooden leg from the sand threw him too far in the other direction. "Dancin' Doolittles!" he blared, striving to recover himself. "Hi! Drat that dog!" His wooden leg kicked straight out. He pawed at the empty air with both hands, dropping his cane, which followed the basket and the groceries, hippity-hop, down the hill. For an old man, and a wooden-legged man, Mr. Oliver Littlefield proved to be very agile. He made a wild leap, and landed in the soft sand. His wooden leg sank in this until he was more than knee deep in the shifting comminuted rock on that side, while his right leg was bent under him.