as Lady cowered whimperingly back on her haunches; and would
harry the indignant cat up the nearest tree; herding her there
until Lady had licked the dish clean.

Lad went further, in his fealty to the puppy. Sacrificing his own
regal dignity, he would romp with her, at times when it would
have been far more comfortable to drowse. He bore, without
murmur, her growling assaults on his food; amusedly standing
aside while she annexed his supper's choicest bits.

He endured, too, her occasional flurries of hot temper; and made
no protest when Lady chose to wreak some grievance against life
by flying at him with bristling ruff and jaws asnarl. Her keen
little milk teeth hurt like the mischief, when they dug into his
ears or his paws, in one of these rage-gusts. But he did not
resent the pain or the indignity by so much as drawing back out
of harm's way. And, afterward, when quick repentance replaced
anger and she strove to make friends with him again, Lad was
inordinately happy.

To both the Mistress and the Master, from the very outset, it was
plain that Lady was not in any way such a dog as their beloved
Lad. She was as temperamental as Peter Grimm himself. She had
hair-trigger nerves, a swirlingly uncertain temper that was
scarce atoned for by her charm and lovableness; and she lacked
Lad's stanchness and elusive semi-human quality. The two were as
different in nature as it is possible for a couple of
well-brought-up thoroughbred collies to be. And the humans'
hearts did not go out to Lady as to Lad. Still, she was an ideal
pet, in many ways. And, Lad's utter devotion to her was a full