“I see,” said the Judge. “Yes, I see. We haven’t the least idea what happened to the dog.” He touched his pince-nez.

Mike rubbed his head wearily. “Don’t know what to do except sit under his window the night through. Hardly seems good enough.”

The Judge said, simply, “Why don’t you find out what happened to the dog?”

The young man’s face changed. “What we need, sir,” said Mike slowly, “is to teach Freddy how to ask for it. Just to ask for it. Just to want it.” The old man and the young man looked at each other. Past and future telescoped. “Now,” Mike said. “Before dark.”

Supper time, for the kids, was only twenty minutes long. When the girl in the brown dress with the bare blonde head got out of the shabby coupé, the gang was gathered again in its hollow under the oak. She went to them and sank down on the ground. “Ah, Freddy, was it Bones? Your dear little dog you wrote about in the essay?”

“Yes, Miss Dana.” Freddy’s voice was shrill and hostile. I won’t be touched! it cried to her. So she said no more, but sat there on the ground, and presently she began to cry. There was contagion. The simplest thing in the world. First, one of the smaller ones, whimpering. Finally, Freddy Titus, bending over. Her arm guided his head, and then he lay weeping in her lap.

Russell, up in the summer house, closed his eyes and praised the Lord. In a little while he swung his legs over the railing and slid down the bank. “How do? I’m Mike Russell.”

“I’m Lillian Dana.” She was quick and intelligent, and her tears were real.

“Fellows,” said Mike briskly, “you know what’s got to be done, don’t you? We’ve got to solve this case.”

They turned their woeful faces.

He said, deliberately, “It’s just the same as murder. It is a murder.”

“Yeah,” said Freddy and sat up, tears drying. “And it was ole Matlin.”

“Then we have to prove it.”

Miss Lillian Dana saw the boy’s face lock. He didn’t need to prove anything, the look proclaimed. He knew. She leaned over a little and said, “But we can’t make an ugly mistake and put it on Bones’s account. Bones was a fine dog. Oh, that would be a terrible monument.” Freddy’s eyes turned, startled.

“It’s up to us,” said Mike gratefully, “to go after the real facts, with real detective work. For Bones’s sake.”

“It’s the least we can do for him,” said Miss Dana, calmly and decisively.

Freddy’s face lifted.

“Trouble is,” Russell went on quickly, “people get things wrong. Sometimes they don’t remember straight. They make mistakes.”

“Ole Matlin tells lies,” said Freddy.