From the very first, the Mistress had been Bruce's champion at
The Place. There was no competition for that office. She and she
alone could see any promise in the shambling youngster.

Because he had been born on The Place, and because he was the
only son of Rothsay Lass, whom the Mistress had also championed
against strong opposition, it had been decided to keep and raise
him. But daily this decision seemed less and less worth while.
Only the Mistress's championing of the Undesirable prevented his
early banishment.

From a fuzzy and adventurous fluff-ball of gray-gold-and-white
fur, Bruce swiftly developed into a lanky giant. He was almost as
large again as is the average collie pup of his age; but, big as
he was, his legs and feet and head were huge, out of all
proportion to the rest of him. The head did not bother him. Being
hampered by no weight of brain, it would be navigated with more
or less ease, in spite of its bulk. But the legs and feet were
not only in his own way, but in every one else's.

He seemed totally lacking in sense, as well as in bodily
coordination. He was forever getting into needless trouble. He
was a stormcenter. No one but a born fool--canine or human--could
possibly have caused one-tenth as much bother.

The Mistress had named him "Bruce," after the stately Scottish
chieftain who was her history-hero. And she still called him
Bruce--fifty times a day--in the weary hope of teaching him his
name. But every one else on The Place gave him a title instead of
a name--a title that stuck: "The Pest." He spent twenty-four