vanished. In his place, by a very normal process of nature-magic,
stood a magnificently stately thoroughbred collie.

The big head had tapered symmetrically, and had lost its puppy
formlessness. It was now a head worthy of Landseer's own pencil.
The bonily awkward body had lengthened and had lost its myriad
knobs and angles. It had grown massively graceful.

The former thatch of half-curly and indeterminately yellowish
fuzz had changed to a rough tawny coat, wavy and unbelievably
heavy, stippled at the ends with glossy black. There was a
strange depth and repose and Soul in the dark eyes--yes, and a
keen intelligence, too.

It was the old story of the Ugly Duckling, all over again.

"Why!" gasped the Mistress. "He's--he's BEAUTIFUL! And I never
knew it."

At her loved voice the great dog moved across to where she sat.
Lightly he laid one little white paw on her knee and looked
gravely up into her eyes.

"He's got sense, too," chimed in the Master. "Look at those eyes,
if you doubt it. They're alive with intelligence. It's--it's a
miracle! He can't be the same worthless whelp I wanted to get rid
of! He CAN'T!"

And he was not. The long illness, at the most formative time of
the dog's growth, had done its work in developing what, all the