Vainly, he tried to plead with the Master for her release, as the
walk began; and again at its end.

There were such a lot of things in the world that even the
cleverest collie could not make head or tail of! And most of
these things were sad.

That night, when the house was shut, Lad crept as usual into his
cave under the piano. And he lay down with a sigh, his great head
between his two absurdly small white forepaws. As a rule, before
going to sleep for the night, Lad used to spend much time in
licking those same snowy forepaws into shining cleanliness. The
paws were his one gross vanity; and he wasted more than an hour a
day in keeping them spotlessly white. But tonight he was too
depressed to think of anything but the whimpering little dog
imprisoned down in the tool-house.

After a while, he fell asleep.

A true watchdog sleeps with all his senses or the very edge of
wakefulness. And when he wakens, he does not waken as do we
humans;--yawningly, dazedly, drunk with slumber. At one moment he
is sound asleep. At the next he is broad awake; with every
faculty alert.

So ever it was, with Lad. So it was with him, this night. An hour
before dawn, he woke with sharp suddenness; and at once he was on
his feet; tense, on guard. He did not know what had roused him.
Yet, now that he was awake, two of his senses recorded something