Lady had all the promise of becoming a perfect housedog.
Fastidious, quick to learn, she adapted herself almost at once to
indoor life. And Lad was overjoyed at her admission to the domain
where until now he had ruled alone. Personally, and with the
gravity of an old-world host, he conducted her from room to room.
He even offered her a snoozing-place in his cherished "cave,"
under the piano, in the music room the spot of all others dearest
to him.

But it was dim and cheerless, under the piano; or so Lady seemed
to think. And she would not go there for an instant. She
preferred the disreputable grizzly-bear rug in front of the
living room hearth. And, temporarily deserting his loved cave,
Lad used to lie on this rug at her side; well content when she
edged him off its downy center and onto the bumpy edges.

All winter, Lady's sleeping quarters had been the tool-house in
the back garden, behind the stables. Here, on a sweet-smelling
(and flea-averting) bed of cedar shavings, she had been
comfortable and wholly satisfied. But, at once, on her promotion,
she appeared to look upon the once-homelike tool-house as a newly
rich daylaborer might regard the tumbledown shack where he had
spent the days of his poverty.

She avoided the tool-house; and even made wide detours to avoid
passing close to it. There is no more thoroughgoing snob, in
certain ways, than a high-bred dog. And, to Lady, the tool-house
evidently represented a humiliating phase of her outlived past.

Yet, she was foredoomed to go back to the loathed abode. And her