“Got your shovel and pick?”
“Shovel. Shan’t want no pick; the sand comes down as soon as you touch it. Now, then, Mars Grant, ready? May as well take a couple more sacks.”
The sacks were put in, and we were ready for a start, when a yelp took my attention, and I said:
“I suppose you wouldn’t like us to take Juno, sir?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Do the dog good. Do you want to take her?”
“Yes,” I said eagerly.
The handsome, black, curly-haired retriever barked furiously, for she saw that we were looking at her.
Mr Solomon nodded, and I ran and unbuckled the dog’s collar, having my face licked by way of thanks.
As I threw the chain over the kennel Juno bounded up at the horse and then rushed at the gate, barking furiously. Then she rushed back, and charged at all the other dogs, barking as if saying, “Come along, lads, we’re off.”
But the big gates were set open, Juno rushed out, there was a final word or two from Mr Solomon, who said: