After which, he chirped again to the gladly following collie and made off down the beach, toward a loop of mangrove swamp that swelled out into the water a quarter-mile farther on.
The dog gamboled gayly about him, as they walked, and tried to entice him into a romp.

Prancing invitingly toward Brice, the collie would then flee from him in simulated terror.

Next, crouching in front of him, the dog would snatch up a mouthful of sand, growl, and make pattering gestures with his white forefeet at Gavin's dusty shoes.
Failing to lure his new master into a frolic, the dog fell sober and paced majestically alongside him, once or twice earning an absent-minded pat on the head by thrusting his muzzle into the cup of the walker's hand.
As they neared the loop of the swamp, the collie looked back, and growled softly, under his breath.

Gavin followed the direction of the dog's gaze.

He saw the beach comber sit up, and then, with much pain and difficulty, get swayingly to his feet.
"Don't worry, old chap," Gavin said to the growling collie.
"He's had all he can carry, for one day.