It was Lad's collie way to pick up offerings (ranging from
slippers to very dead fish) and to carry them to the Mistress.
Sometimes he was petted for this. Sometimes the offering was
lifted gingerly between aloof fingers and tossed back into the
lake. But, nobody could well refuse so jingly and pretty a gift
as this satchel.
The Master, sketchily attired, came running down the lawn,
flashlight in hand. Past him, unnoticed, as he sped toward the
ditch, a collie pup limped;--a very unhappy and comfort-seeking
puppy who carried in his mouth a blood-spattered brown bag.
"It doesn't make sense to me!" complained the Master, next day,
as he told the story for the dozenth time, to a new group of
callers. "I heard the shots and I went out to investigate. There
he was lying, half in and half out of the ditch. The fellow was
unconscious. He didn't get his senses back till after the police
came. Then he told some babbling yarn about a creature that had
stolen his bag of loot and that had lured him to the ditch. He
was all unnerved and upset, and almost out of his head with pain.
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