on the sand, dripping and excited. There was nobody in sight, and I gave a last glance up into the air where the bird wheeled, still screeching, and hastened into the house. Freda stared at me in amazement as I seized the rifle and shouted for the professor.
"He has just gone to town, with Captain McPeek in his wagon," stammered Freda.
"What!" I cried. "Does he know where his daughter is?"
"Miss Holroyd is asleep—not?" gasped Freda.
"Where's Frisby?" I cried impatiently.
"Yimmie?" quavered Freda.
"Yes, Jimmie; isn't there anybody here? Good heavens! where's that man in the shop?"
"He also iss gone," said Freda, shedding tears, "to buy papier-maché. Yimmie, he iss gone to post bills."
I waited to hear no more, but swung my rifle over my shoulder, and, hanging the cartridge belt across my chest, hurried out and up the beach. The bird was not in sight.
I had been running for perhaps a minute when, far up on the dunes, I saw a yellow dog rush madly through a clump of sweet bay, and at the same moment a bird soared past, rose, and hung hovering just above the thicket. Suddenly the bird swooped; there was a shriek and a yelp from the cur, but the bird gripped it in one claw and beat its wings upon the sand, striv-
