Shunk had had an unusually profitable morning. Not often did a single day’s work net him seven dollars. But this was circus day at Paterson and many Hampton people had gone thither. They had left their dogs at home. One or two of these dogs had wandered onto the street, where they had fallen easy victims to the dog catcher. Others he had snatched, protesting, from the porches and dooryards of their absent owners. Seven of the lot had not chanced to wear license tags, and these Shunk had corralled in his wagon. Now his best day’s work in months threatened to become a total loss. With a wild wrench he drove his arms into the sleeves of the coat he had just rescued. In the same series of motions—and bawling an assortment of expletives, which Link hoped Dorcas and Olive might not understand—the dog catcher made a wild rush for his escaped captives, picking up and brandishing the landing net as he ran. “Chum!” whispered Ferris tensely. As he spoke he pointed to the bony yellow horse. “Easy!” he added, observing the steed’s feebleness and age. The yellow horse was roused from his first square meal in weeks by a gentle nip at his heel. He threw up his head with a snort and made a clumsy bound forward. But, instantly, Chum was in front of him, herding him as often he had herded recalcitrant cows of Link’s, steering him for the highroad. As the wagon creaked and bumped out onto the turnpike, Chum imparted a farewell nip to one of the charger’s hocks. With a really creditable burst of speed the horse set off down the road at a hand gallop. The rattle and squeaking of the disreputable wagon reached Shunk’s ears just as Eben had almost cornered one of the seven escaping dogs. Shunk turned round. Down the road his horse was running. A sharp turn was barely quarter of a mile beyond. On the stone of this turn the brute might well shatter the wagon and perhaps injure himself. There was but one thing for his distracted owner to do. Horse and wagon were worth more than seven dollars—even if not very much more. Eben Shunk was a thrifty man. And he knew he must forgo the capture of the seven rescued dogs if he intended to save his equipage. He broke into a run, giving chase to his faithless steed. As he passed the thunderously guffawing Ferris, Shunk wasted enough precious breath and time to yell: “I’ll git that dog of yourn yet! Next time he sets foot in Hampton Borough I’ll—” The rest of his threat was lost in distance. “H’m!” mused Ferris, the laugh dying on his lips. “He’ll do it too! He’ll be layin’ in wait for Chum, if it takes a year. In the borough limits dogs and folks is bound by borough laws. That means we can’t take Chum to Hampton again. Unless—Lord, but folks can stir up more ructions over a decent innocent dog than over all the politics that ever happened! If—”