hours, daily, living up to it.

Compared with Bruce's helplessly clownish trouble-seeking
propensities, Charlie Chaplin's screen exploits are miracles of
heroic dignity and of good luck.

There was a little artificial water-lily pool on The Place,
perhaps four feet deep. By actual count, Bruce fell into it no
less than nine times in a single week. Once or twice he had
nearly drowned there before some member of the family chanced to
fish him out. And, learning nothing from experience, he would
fall in again, promptly, the next day.

The Master at last rigged up a sort of sloping wooden platform,
running from the lip of the pool into the water, so that Bruce
could crawl out easily, next time he should tumble in. Bruce
watched the placing of this platform with much grave interest.
The moment it was completed, he trotted down it on a tour of
investigation. At its lower edge he slipped and rolled into the
pool. There he floundered, with no thought at all of climbing out
as he had got in, until the Master rescued him and spread a wire
net over the whole pool to avert future accidents.

Thenceforth, Bruce met with no worse mischance, there, than the
perpetual catching of his toe-pads in the meshes of the wire.
Thus ensnared he would stand, howling most lamentably, until his
yells brought rescue.

Though the pool could be covered with a net, the wide lake at the
foot of the lawn could not be. Into the lake Bruce would wade