Presently Bruce tired of the ovation tendered him. These ovations
were getting to be an old story. They had begun as far back as
his training-camp days--when the story of his joining the army
was told by the man to whom The Place's guest had written
commending the dog to the trainers' kindness.

At the training-camp this story had been reenforced by the chief
collie-teacher--a dour little Hieland Scot named McQuibigaskie,
who on the first day declared that the American dog had more
sense and more promise and more soul "than a' t'other tykes south
o' Kirkcudbright Brae."

Being only mortal, Bruce found it pleasanter to be admired and
petted than ignored or kicked. He was impersonally friendly with
the soldiers, when he was off duty; and he relished the dainties
they were forever thrusting at him.

But at times his soft eyes would grow dark with homesickness for
the quiet loveliness of The Place and for the Mistress and the
Master who were his loyally worshiped gods. Life had been so
happy and so sweetly uneventful for him, at The Place! And there
had been none of the awful endless thunder and the bewilderingly
horrible smells and gruesome sights which here met him at every
turn.

The dog's loving heart used to grow sick with it all; and he
longed unspeakably for home. But he was a gallant soldier, and he
did his work not only well, but with a snap and a dash and an
almost uncanny intelligence which made him an idol to the men.