dog had chosen.

Lad, trotting hungrily to his dinner dish, would find his food
thick-strewn with cayenne pepper or else soaked in reeking gasoline.

Lad, seeking peace and solitude in his piano cave, would discover his
rug, there, cleverly scattered with carpet tacks, points upward.

Lad, starting up from a snooze at the Mistress's call, would be deftly
tripped as he started to bound down the veranda steps, and would risk
bruises and fractures by an ugly fall to the driveway below.

Wherever Lad went, whatever Lad did, there was a cruel trick awaiting
him. And, in time, the dog's dark eyes took on an expression of puzzled
unhappiness that went straight to the hearts of the two humans who
loved him.

All his life, Lad had been a privileged character on the Place. Never
had he known nor needed whip or chain. Never had he,--or any of the
Place's other dogs,--been wantonly teased by any human. He had known,
and had given, only love and square treatment and stanch friendliness.
He had ruled as benevolent monarch of the Place's Little People; had
given loyal service to his two deities, the Mistress and the Master;
and had stood courteously aloof from the rest of mankind. And he had
been very, very happy.

Now, in a breath, all this was changed. Ever at his heels, ever waiting
to find some new way to pester him, was a human too small and too weak
to attack;--a human who was forever setting the collie's high-strung
nerves on edge or else actively hurting him. Lad could not understand
it. And as the child gained in health and strength, Lad's lot grew
increasingly miserable.

The Mistress and the Master were keenly aware of conditions. And they
did their best,--a useless best,--to mitigate them for the dog. They
labored over Cyril, to make him leave Lad alone. They pointed out to
him the mean cowardice of his course of torture. They even threatened
to send him to nearer relatives until his parents' return. All in vain.
Faced with the most undeniable proofs, the child invariably would lie.
He denied that he had ever ill-used Lad in any way; and would weep, in
righteous indignation, at the charges. What was to be done?

"I thought it would brighten up the house so, to have a child in it
again!" sighed the Mistress as she and her husband discussed the
matter, uselessly, for the fiftieth time, after one of these scenes. "I
looked forward so much to his coming here! But he's--oh, he isn't like
any child I ever heard of befor