Nearer and nearer to the picnic party on the beach raced the big, yellow dog.  He was barking in delight and his tail was wagging from side to side.

“He’ll get us wet!” exclaimed Mrs. Slater.  “Down, Sandy!  Down!” she commanded.

Instantly the dog stopped and began to shake himself vigorously, sending the water in a shower from his shaggy coat.

“Oh, he minded you!  He’s your dog all right, isn’t he?” cried Bunny.

“Yes, he’s my Sandy,” answered Harry.  “He always minds sometimes.”

At the sound of his young master’s voice the dog, with another joyful bark, again leaped forward.  He had stopped to get rid of as much of the water as possible, but a moment later he was jumping and tumbling about Harry and Mrs. Slater, while the little boy, caring not at all about the dog’s damp coat, was hugging his pet.

“Oh, Sandy!  Sandy!  I’m so glad you came back!” cried Harry.

“Is it really your dog?” asked Mrs. Brown of her friend.

“Yes,” answered Mrs. Slater.  “Oh, do be quiet, you crazy animal,” she said, as he leaped up and tried to put his tongue on her face.

“He wants to kiss you,” said Sue.

Then the dog turned to Sue, and he really did “kiss” her, for Sue was sitting down and the dog easily reached her tanned cheeks with his red tongue.

“Be careful,” warned Mrs. Brown.

“Oh, Sandy is gentle and loves children,” said Harry’s mother.  “But I fancy that young man in the boat wants some explanation,” she went on.  “Though, since we have told him this is Christmas Tree Cove, he must have guessed that we are the people to whom the dog belongs.”

The man in the boat had stopped his engine, and the craft was now grounded in the sand not far from where the picnic was being held.  A four-pronged anchor was tossed out to prevent the motor boat from drifting away, and then the young man came up the beach.  He was smiling pleasantly, and as he took off his cap and bowed to the ladies he said: 

“Davy Jones seems to have found out where he belongs all right.  I presume this is Harry Slater,” he went on, looking at the boy around whom the dog was leaping.

“Yes,” answered Mrs. Slater.  “And this is Mr. Ravenwood?”

“Yes,” was the reply.  “I called the dog Davy Jones, for he seemed to love the sea, and I didn’t know what his right name was.  He is evidently yours.”

“Sandy belongs to us,” returned Mrs. Slater.  “It is all rather a strange story from the time Sandy ran away from us until we found your box and learned that you had our dog.  But there is a stranger part to it still, it seems, if what Bunny and Sue think proves to be true.”

“What is that?” asked Mr. Ravenwood.

Then he was told about the missing pocketbook and ring.

“Are you sure, children, that this is the same dog that ran into the yard that day and made off with my pocketbook?” asked Mrs. Brown of Bunny and Sue.

“Oh, yes!” declared Bunny.  “He runs just the same, and he barks just the same, and he looks just the same.”

Sue agreed with this, and when Mrs. Slater told again what a habit Sandy had of carrying things off in his mouth it was decided that this was the animal that had caused Bunny and Sue so much trouble, including the locking in at Mr. Foswick’s carpenter shop.

“How did you get Sandy?” asked Mrs. Slater of Mr. Ravenwood.

“He came to me,” was the answer.  “I am a sort of carpenter myself,” he went on.  “I make things of wood, called patterns.  They are for the use of foundries in casting objects in metal.  The box you found is full of wooden patterns, and that is why it floated away up here after I lost it.”

“How did you lose it?” asked Sue.

“And isn’t there any pirate gold in the box?” asked Bunny, much disappointed.

“No, not a bit of pirate gold, or any other kind,” laughed Mr. Ravenwood.  “I wish there might be some real, good gold in it, but such things don’t happen outside of books, I’m afraid,” he added.  “Perhaps I had better tell you the whole story,” he suggested.

“I should like to hear it,” said Mrs. Brown.  “That is, unless you want to go up to our woodshed and make sure it is your box we have found.”

“No,” was the reply.  “I am pretty certain, from your description of it and from the fact that it has my name on it, that it is mine.  Now I will tell you how Davy Jones, as I called him, or Sandy, as you call him, came to me.

“I was in my motor boat one day at a dock in Bellemere, getting some wood to take to my shop in Sea Gate to make into patterns.  I was just about to start off when this big, yellow dog came running along the pier.  He jumped into my boat and made himself at home.  I tried to make him go ashore, but he wouldn’t.  As I had no time to get out myself and tie him up, I took him with me back to Sea Gate.  He proved to be very friendly, and though I was sure he was a valuable animal and that some one would want him back, I had no time then to make inquiries.  I just kept him and took him home with me.”

“Did he have a pocketbook when he jumped into your boat?” asked Bunny.

“No, I don’t believe he did,” answered Mr. Ravenwood.  “He had nothing in his mouth that I recall; though, to tell you the truth, my back was turned when he leaped aboard.”

“He couldn’t have had my pocketbook,” said Mrs. Brown.  “If this is the same dog that was in our yard, and he seems to be, he either dropped my purse in the carpenter shop or else in some other place which we shall never know.  The shop has been searched, but where else to look no one knows.”

“Well, as I said,” went on Mr. Ravenwood, “Sandy came aboard my boat and I kept him.  It was not until the other day that I noticed an advertisement about him, and then I knew what to do with him.  That was the day after I lost my box.”

“How did you lose that?” asked Uncle Tad.

“I lost it overboard out of my boat in the fierce storm of the other night,” was the answer.  “I had packed the box full of wooden patterns, put it in my boat, and I had lettered my name and address on it in readiness for sending it away by express.  I was also going to put the name of the place where the box was to go, but I was called away just then to the telephone at the dock in Sea Gate, and when I came back I was thinking so much about something else that I forgot all about putting the other name on the box.  I started out in my boat to take the box across the bay to the express office, and I was caught in the storm.  I was nearly capsized and had to put back to shore, the box tipping overboard and floating off.  I was glad enough to let it go and get safely back myself.”

“And did Sandy go overboard, too?” asked Harry, his arms about his dog’s neck.

“No, I had left Sandy on shore,” answered Mr. Ravenwood.  “Though he always wanted to go with me; didn’t you, old fellow?” he asked, and the dog wagged his tail to show how happy he was.

“Well, that’s about all there is to my story,” said Mr. Ravenwood.  “After the storm was over I set out in search of my box of patterns, for I knew they would float, but I could not find them.  Sandy went with me on these trips.  Then I got Mr. Brown’s letter, telling me that the box with my name on was here in Christmas Tree Cove, and, at the same time, I noticed the advertisement in one of the papers about the lost dog.

“I connected the two names, and then I thought the best thing to do was to bring Sandy here and see if he belonged to you folks.  And I am glad to know that he does,” he went on.  “And now, if I may get my box and pay any expenses there may be attached to it ­”

“There aren’t any expenses,” interrupted Mrs. Brown, with a smile.  “The box is in our shed, and you are welcome to it at any time.  But won’t you have lunch with us?  The children were so anxious for you to come that I thought this would make the time pass more quickly.  We did not dream of your coming to us here.”

“I’m glad I did,” said the young man, as he took a sandwich which Sue passed him.

Then there was a happy time on the beach, different parts of the strange stories being told over and over again.  Sandy seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, and he eagerly ate the pieces of bread and meat the children tossed to him.

At last, however, the time came to go home.  Mr. Brown was expected up from Bellemere and Mr. Ravenwood said he would wait over and meet him.

“We can all get in my boat, and ride to the dock,” proposed the young pattern-maker.

“Oh, that will be fun!” cried Bunny.  “Come on!”

The lunch baskets were gathered up, and as they went down the beach to Mr. Ravenwood’s boat Sue put her arms around Sandy’s neck, looked into the brown eyes of the dog, and said very seriously: 

“Can’t you tell what you did with my mother’s pocketbook and diamond ring?”

Sandy only wagged his tail, gave a little bark, and raced off after Harry and Bunny, who were getting into the boat.

“All aboard!” called Mr. Ravenwood, as he helped in Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Slater.  “All aboard!”

“I’ll push off and you can start the engine,” offered Bunker Blue.  “I’m used to it and I can hop on after she gets started.”

“All right,” said Mr. Ravenwood, and he went back to the stern of the craft where the gasolene motor was placed under a cover made of wood, to keep out the rain and the salty spray.

Bunker pushed the bow of the boat free from the sand and then leaped on board himself.

“Start her up!” he cried to Mr. Ravenwood.