Nevertheless, that wistful glint was ever lurking in his deep-set eyes, nowadays. And his gayly trumpeting bark rang out less often and less jubilantly than of old. He took to moping. And he spent more time than before in his beloved "cave," under the music-room piano.
Moping and solitude are no more beneficial to dogs than to humans. The Master racked his brain for some way of bringing the splendid collie back to his olden spirits.
Luck, or fate, took the matter out of his hands.
The Mistress and the Master were invited to spend a week with some friends whose house stood in an ultra-restricted residential park, high up in the Catskills. By leaving the Place at sunrise, they could reach the Park, by motor, in time for afternoon tea.
At dawn, the car was brought to the door. Its tonneau was piled with luggage; and all was ready for a start as soon as the unappetizingly early breakfast could be swallowed.
Wolf and Lady, after following the car from the garage to the door, wearied of the uninspiring wait; and set forth at a hand-gallop for the woods. There, at dawning, the dew would lie heavy. And wet ground ever holds scent better than does dry. It would be easy to pick up and follow rabbit trails, through the damp.
Lad made as though to follow them. He ran out of the house and half-way up the drive in pursuit of their flashing gold-and-white flight. Neither turned a head at sound of his following steps. Neither slackened pace to include him in the hunt.
Always abnormally sensitive, the big collie noted this aloofness. And he came to an irresolute halt. For a moment, he stared after the two vanishing runaways; his plumed tail swaying ever so little, in groundless expectation of an invitingly glance or yelp from Lady. Then, tail and crest adroop, he turned slowly back toward the house.
From puppyhood, an odd trait of Lad's had caused amusement at the Place. Whenever he was unhappy or considered himself ill-treated, it was his way to hunt for something wherewith he might comfort himself. For instance, as a pup, a scolding for some petty misdeed would send him in search of his cherished flannel doll or his squeaking ball. In later years, the car had taken the place of these babyhood comforters.
Lad cared more for motoring than for any other amusement. In moments of stress he sometimes ran to the garage and curled himself up in the tonneau; as though in hope someone might take pity on his unhappiness and give him a drive. And, usually, somebody did.