So,--as might a human in like circumstances,--he ceased to content himself with picking up trifles that chanced to be lying in his path, in the highway, and fell to searching for such flotsam and jetsam.
He began the hunt, next morning.

Pacing gravely along the center of the road, he headed toward the mile-distant village.

By sheer luck, such few automobiles as chanced along, at that hour, were driven by folk who had heart enough to slow down or to turn aside for the majestically strolling old dog.

To the end of his long life, Lad could never be made to understand that he was not entitled to walk at will in the exact middle of the road.

Perhaps his lofty assurance in taking such a course made motorists check speed to spare him.
This morning, he had fared but a half-mile when he saw a car drawn up at the edge of the road, beside a shaded bit of turf.