times, as he ran. At last two bullets got him. He fell over,
mortally wounded. He scrambled to his feet and kept on falling,
stumbling, staggering--till he got to his destination. Then he
dropped dead at the side of the Colonel the message had been sent
to. And those are only two of thousands of true collie-anecdotes.
Yet some fools are trying to get American dogs done away with, as
'non-utilitarian,' while the war lasts! As if the dogs in France,
today, weren't earning their overseas brothers' right to live--
and live well!"

Neither of his hearers made reply when the guest finished his
earnest, eager recital. Neither of them had paid much heed to his
final words. For the Master and the Mistress were looking at each
other in mute unhappiness. The same miserable thought was in the
mind of each. And each knew the thought that was torturing the
mind of the other.

Presently, at a glint of inquiry in the Master's eye, the
Mistress suddenly bent over and buried her face in the deep mass
of Bruce's ruff as the dog stood lovingly beside her. Then, still
stroking the collie's silken head, she returned her husband's
wretchedly questioning glance with a resigned little nod. The
Master cleared his throat noisily before he could speak with the
calm indifference he sought. Then, turning to the apparently
unnoticing guest, he said--

"I think I told you I tried to get across to France at the very
start--and I was barred because I am past forty and because I
have a bum heart and several other defects that a soldier isn't
supposed to have. My wife and I have tried to do what little we