zest of the best thoroughbred type,--was one of this group.

His early teachings now stood him in good stead. What once had
been a jolly game, for his own amusement and that of the Mistress
and the Master, was now his life-work. Steadily his trainer
wrought over him, bringing out latent abilities that would have
dumfounded his earliest teachers, steadying and directing the
gayly dashing intelligence; upbuilding and rounding out all his
native gifts.

A dog of Bruce's rare type made up to the trainers for the
dullness of their average pupils. He learned with bewildering
ease. He never forgot a lesson once taught.

No, the Mistress need not have interceded to save him from
beating. As soon would an impresario think of thrashing Caruso or
Paderewski as would Bruce's glum Scottish trainer have laid whip
to this best pupil of his. Life was bare and strict for Bruce.
But life was never unkind to him, in these first months of exile
from The Place. And, bit by bit, he began to take a joy in his
work.

Not for a day,--perhaps not for an hour, did the big collie
forget the home of his babyhood or those he had delighted to
worship, there. And the look of sadness in his dark eyes became a
settled aspect. Yet, here, there was much to interest and to
excite him. And he grew to look forward with pleasure to his
daily lessons.

At the end of three months, he was shipped to France. There his