In a
moment, he was once more a puppy. For he knew what it all meant.
It did not need the advent of the Mistress and the Master from
the house, in rough outing clothes, nor the piling of duffle-bags
and the like into the car's tonneau, to send Laddie into a
transport of trumpeting and gyrations. The first sight and sniff
of the tents, rolled tight in the truck, had done that. Lad
understood. Lad always understood.
This gear meant the annual fall camping trip in the back reaches
of the Ramapo Mountains, some twenty-odd miles north of the
Place; the fortnight of tent-life, of shooting, of fishing, of
bracingly chill nights and white-misted dawns and of drowsily
happy campfire evenings. It meant all manner of adventure and fun
for Lad.
Now, on a fishing jaunt, the presence of any kind of dog is a
liability; not an asset. A thousand dog-fancier fishermen can
attest to that. And, when humans are hunting any sort of game, a
collie is several degrees worse than worthless.
Thus, Lad's usefulness, as a member of the party, was likely to
be negligible;--except in the matter of guarding camp and as an
all-round pal for the two campers.
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