time, had lain latent. The same illness--and the long-enforced
personal touch with humans--had done an equally transforming work
on the puppy's undeveloped mind. The Thackeray-Washington-
Lincoln-Bismarck simile had held good.

What looked like a miracle was no more than the same beautifully
simple process which Nature enacts every day, when she changes an
awkward and dirt-colored cygnet into a glorious swan or a leggily
gawky colt into a superb Derby-winner. But Bruce's metamorphosis
seemed none the less wonderful in the eyes of the two people who
had learned to love him.

Somewhere in the hideous wreck of Dr. Halding's motorcar the dog
had found a soul--and the rest had followed as a natural course
of growth.

At the autumn dog-show, in Hampton, a "dark-sable-and-white"
collie of unwonted size and beauty walked proudly into the ring
close to the Mistress's side, when the puppy class was called--a
class that includes all dogs under twelve months old. Six minutes
later the Mistress was gleesomely accepting the first-prize blue
ribbon, for "best puppy," from Judge Symonds' own gnarled hand.

Then came the other classes for collies--"Novice," "Open,"
"Limit," "Local," "American Bred." And as Bruce paced
majestically out of the ring at last, he was the possessor of
five more blue ribbons--as well as the blue Winner's rosette, for
"best collie in the show."

"Great dog you've got there, madam!" commented Symonds in solemn