“Go home, pooch, beat it!” But Buick only wagged his stump of a tail as if he had heard the music of angels, and he stayed right there. As a matter of fact, he spent so much time with the Murrays that many people weren’t sure whose dog he was.
Things were like that with the Murrays and the Landrys. It was because they were such good friends. There was a gap in the hedge between the two back yards that had never been filled in because someone was always running back and forth. The Murray’s rock garden ran over the lot line and into Landry’s yard, and the flowers flourished there as if they knew they were welcome. Farther down, the pump stood exactly on the lot line and was shared by the two families, and at the water’s edge the Murray bathhouse stood cozily, back to back, with the Landry bathhouse. Bulbs and perennials had been shared and swapped until the gardens looked related, and Mr. Landry’s little grandson, Peter, claimed the Murray swing.
But this afternoon Buick was really making a nuisance of himself. He seemed to want Daddy to get out of his chair and follow him, and poor Daddy was trying so hard to write.
“Go away, go on, get out of here,” he would say. “Beat it or I’ll hit you with a flower pot,” but Buick kept coming back again and again. He would tug at Daddy’s sleeve and then run off a little distance and bark in short quick yelps. He kept this up until Daddy finally said, “Now listen to me, I’m not going to get up and play with you. I’m going to sit here and write. Go away! Can’t you see I’m a working man?”
Janie came around the corner just then and she stopped to watch. “Why, Daddy,” she said. “Something is up. Buick never acts like this. He seems to want to tell you something. Let’s follow him and see what he wants.” Daddy sighed and put a loose brick on top of his work for a paper weight.
“All right, all right,” he said. “I may as well. I’ll have no peace or rest until I do.”
Buick dashed up the rock garden steps, and they followed him across the road and into the back lot. He ran under the hedge near the little cottage and barked and barked.
“What is it, old fellow?” Daddy asked. “What’s the excitement?”
Buick ran under the hedge again and dug furiously with his short front paws. Then he stopped and picked something up in his mouth and hurried out and dropped it at Daddy’s feet.
“The purse!” Jane cried. “Why Daddy, that’s the purse that Butchie found in Mrs. Saunders’ junk pile. We thought it was up on the roof. How do you suppose it got under the hedge?”