Left alone in the machine, he always realized at once that he was on guard.

Head on paws he would lie, intently scanning anyone who might chance to pause near the auto; and, with a glint of curved white fang beneath sharply upcurled lip, warning away such persons as ventured too close.
Marketing done, today, the trio from the Place started homeward.

Less than a quarter-mile from their own gateway, they heard the blaring honk of a motor horn behind them.
Within a second thereafter, a runabout roared past, the cut-out making echoes along the still road; and a poisonously choking cloud of dust whirling aloft in the speedster's wake.
The warning honk had not given the Mistress time to turn out.

Luckily she was driving well on her own side of the none-too-wide road.

As it was, a sharp little jar gave testimony to the light touch of mudguards.
And the runabout whizzed on.
"That's one of the speed-idiots who make an automobile an insult to everybody except its owner! The young fool!" stormed the Master, glowering impotently at the other car, already a hundred yards ahead; and at the back of its one occupant, a sportily-clad youth in the early twenties.
A high-pitched yelping bark,--partly of dismay, partly of warning,--from Lad, broke in on the Master's fuming remonstrance.