of the person to take it to. Naturally, he knows us all by name.
So it is easy enough for him to do it. We look on the trick as
tremendously clever. But that's because we love Bruce. Almost any
dog can be taught to do it, I suppose. We--"

"You're mistaken!" corrected the guest. "Almost any dog CAN'T be
taught to. Some dogs can, of course; but they are the exception.
I ought to know, for I've been where dog-couriers are a decidedly
important feature of trench-warfare. I stopped at one of the dog-
training schools in England, too, on my way back from Picardy,
and watched the teaching of the dogs that are sent to France and
Flanders. Not one in ten can be trained to carry messages; and
not one in thirty can be counted on to do it reliably. You ought
to be proud of Bruce."

"We are," replied the Mistress. "He is one of the family. We
think everything of him. He was such a stupid and awkward puppy,
too! Then, in just a few months, he shaped up, as he is now. And
his brain woke."

Bruce interrupted the talk by reappearing on the veranda. The
folded envelope was still in the ring on his collar. The guest
glanced furtively at the Master, expecting some sign of chagrin
at the collie's failure.

Instead, the Master took the envelope, unfolded it and glanced at
a word or two that had been written beneath his own scrawl; then
he made another penciled addition to the envelope's writing,
stuck the twisted paper back into the ring and said--