Every now and then he would lay at their feet a tobacco pouch or a handkerchief or a bunch of keys that had been dropped, carelessly, somewhere on the grounds; and which Lad recognized, by scent, as belonging to one of the two humans he loved.
These bits of treasure trove, he delighted in finding and restoring.
Yes, and--though those who had never seen him do this were prone to doubt it--he was certain to lay the recovered object at the feet of whichever of the two had lost it.

For instance, it never occurred to him to drop a filmy square of lace-and-cambric at the muddied feet of the Master; or a smelly old tobacco-pouch at the Mistress's little feet.
There was nothing miraculous about this knowledge.

To a high-bred dog, every human of his acquaintance has a distinctive scent; which cannot be mistaken.

Lad used no occult power inn returning to the rightful owner any article he chanced to find on lawn or on veranda.
But the lace parasol was different.

That, presumably, had fallen from some passing motor-car, bound for Tuxedo or for the Berkshires.