Many a lead had the whys and why-nots of Peter Pape’s nature forced him to follow, but never so interestedly had he followed the lead of a dog. And Kicko showed that he appreciated the confidence. He would dash ahead; would stop and look back; would set down his precious pail, most times merely to yap encouragement, twice to return to his new friend and urge him on by licking his hand. When they left the beaten path for the natural park and approached a hummock marked by rocks and a group of poplars whose artistic setting Pape had admired in passing earlier that afternoon, the police dog’s excitement grew. Beside a dark mass, hunched-over close to the ground, Kicko dropped the bucket with a final yelp of accomplishment. At once the dark mass straightened into human shape. Pape stopped and stared. Almost at once he recognized the poke-bonneted old lady with whose forlorn appearance he had compared his own state. Then she had stood leaning against a tree at the foot of the hill. Now she looked to have been digging in the woodsy earth. A considerable mound of soil lay beside the hole over which she had crouched and she brandished a trowel against Kicko’s exuberant importunities. Her back was toward Pape. As he hesitated over whether to advance or face about, disliking both to startle her and to be caught in what might seem the retreat of a spy, he overheard what she was saying to the dog. He shivered from an odd sensation, not like either cold or heat, that passed up his spinal column and into his neck. “No, you don’t, you wriggly wretch! I know perfectly well what you’ve got in that bucket of yours this time of day—nothing but the saved-up old bones that they don’t want you to bury in the flower-beds about the Sheepfold.” When Kicko, as if acknowledging himself caught, seized the handle of his pail and shook it toward her appealingly, she took off the lid and laughed aloud at his ruse. In the regardless embrace which she threw around his scraggy neck, she spilled what showed to be a collection of more or less aged bones. “Just because you’re so attractive, I’ll _maybe_ let you have your way,” she informed him seriously as though addressing a human. “If I don’t find what I’m after, you may bury your precious _debris_ as I scoop back the dirt. But you’ll have to wait until I— Back, now! I tell you, you’ve got to wait until I’m sure this isn’t the place where——” Pape didn’t stand still longer. Her voice—sweet, strong, familiar—lured him. He forgot his question to advance or retreat. He advanced—and rapidly. By the time he reached her he had outstrode all his consideration for her age and forlorn state. His hurry made him rough. He stooped over the lowered poke bonnet; unclasped the two arms from about Kicko’s neck; literally, jerked the woman to her feet.