Higham went on, more briskly:

"I've got this bag to put over his head when I open the stall
door. That'll put him out of the biting business, till it's
peeled away from his jaws, after he's got a real good rubbing.
But he'll likely wriggle, a lot. And I'll need you to sit on his
head. Likewise to carry this bowl and the sponge, while I'm
opening the door and getting the bag over his head. Are you
game?"

"I sure am!" breathed the enraptured boy.

"Come 'long, then. The stuff's ready; and we don't want to waste
any time. Go ahead and see if there's anyone in that end of the
stable." Two minutes later, the pair groped their way through the
dense gloom, to Stall Five. They walked with exaggerated care;
though the roar of the storm would have deadened the sound of a
cavalry charge. Handing over the bowl and sponge to his
assistant, Higham produced from under his coat a thick burlap bag
with a drawstring at its neck. Then, he opened the door of the
box stall, a few inches and stared in.

By straining his eyes, he could just see the vague outline of the
big collie. The dog arose from a bundle of straw, stretched
himself fore and aft, and walked gravely forward to welcome the
visitors who were so kindly easing his loneliness. He was barely
visible, in the dimness.

But there was light enough for Higham's purpose. With practiced
hand, he shoved the bag over the beautiful silken head, as the