“You’ll go to jail for this!” he whined down at Ferris. “I’ll swear out a warr’nt agin ye, the minute I git back to Hampton. Yes, an’ I’ll git the judge to order your dog shot as a men’ce to public safety an’—” “I guess not!” Ferris cut him short as Shunk’s whine swelled to a howl. “I guess not, Mister Meanest Man. In fact, you’ll be lucky if you keep out of the hoosgow, on my charge of trespass. You came onto my land against my wish. You couldn’t help seein’ my No Trespassing sign yonder. I ordered you off. You refused to go. I gave you fair warnin’. You wouldn’t mind it. I did all that before I sicked the dog on you. My wife is a reli’ble witness. And she can swear to it in any court. If I sick my dog onto a trespasser who refuses to clear out when he’s told to, there’s no law in North Jersey that will touch either me or Chum. And you know it as well as I do. Now I tell you once more to clear off of my farm. If you’ll go quick I’ll see the dog don’t bother you. If you put up any more talk I’ll station him under this tree and leave you and him to companion each other here all day. Now git!” As though to impress his presence once more on Mr. Shunk, Chum slowly got up from the ground at Dorcas’ feet and slouched lazily toward the tree again. Link, wondering at the dog’s apparent disobedience of his command to leave the prisoner alone, looked on with a frown of perplexity. But at once his face cleared. For Chum was not honouring the tree dweller by so much as a single upward glance. Instead, he was picking his way to where Shunk’s discarded coat lay on the ground near the tree foot. The dog stood over this unlovely garment, looking down at its greasily worn surface with sniffling disapproval. Then, with much cold deliberation, Chum knelt down and thrust one of his great furry shoulders against the rumpled surface of the coat and shoved the shoulder along the unkempt expanse of cloth. After which he repeated the same performance with his other shoulder, ending the demonstration by rolling solemnly and luxuriously upon the rumpled, mishandled coat. Link burst into a bellow of Homeric laughter. Shunk, peering down, went purple with utter and speechless indignation. Both men understood dogs. Therefore, to both of them, Chum’s purpose was as clear as day. But Baby Olive looked on in crass perplexity. She wondered why Link found it so funny. “What’s he doing, Link?” she demanded. “What’s Chummie rolling on that nassy ol’ coat for? It’ll get him all dirty.” “Listen, Baby,” exhorted Link, when he could speak. “A dog never digs his shoulders into anything, that way, and then rolls in it—except carrion! He—” “Link!” cried Dorcas, scandalised. “That’s so, old girl,” replied her husband. “It’s a busy day and we won’t have time to waste in giving the dog a bath. Come away, Chum!” The dog came back to his place in front of Dorcas. Ferris, wearying of the scene, nodded imperatively to Shunk.