ilderness than their inborn dread
of humans.

"There's a big snowstorm coming up," ruminated the Master, as he
scanned the grim weather-signs. "A blizzard, perhaps. I--I hope it
won't delay any incoming steamers. I hope at least one of them will
dock on schedule. It--"

He turned back from his musings, aware for the first time that a right
sprightly dialogue was going on. Cyril was demanding for the eighth
time:

"WHY won't you tell me? Aw, I think you might! What's going to happen
that's so nice, Friday?"

"Wait till Friday and see," laughed the Mistress.

"Shucks!" he snorted. "You might tell me, now. I don't want to wait and
get s'prised. I want to know, NOW. Tell me!"

Under her tolerant smile, the youngster's voice scaled to an impatient
whine. He was beginning to grow red.

"Let it go at that!" ordained the Master. "Don't spoil your own fun, by
trying to find out, beforehand. Be a good sportsman."

"Fun!" snarled Cyril. "What's the fun of secrets? I want to know--"

"It's snowing," observed the Mistress, as a handful of flakes began to
drift past the windows, tossed along on a puff of wind.

"I want to KNOW!" half-wept the child; angry at the change of subject,
and noting that the Mistress was moving toward the next room, with Lad
at her heels. "Come back and tell me!"

He stamped after her to bar her way. Lad was between the irate Cyril
and the Mistress. In babyish rage at the dog's placid presence in his
path, he drew back one ungainly foot and kicked the astonished collie
in the ribs.

At the outrage, Lad spun about, a growl in his throat. But he forbore
to bite or even to show his teeth. The growl had been of indignant
protest at such unheard-of treatment; not a menace. Then the dog
stalked haughtily to his cave, and lay down there.

But the human witnesses to the scene were less forbearing;--being only
humans. The Mistress cried out, in sharp protest at the little brute's
action. And the Master leaned forward, swinging Cyril clear of the
ground. Holding the child firmly, but with no roughness, the Master
steadied his own voice as best he could; and said:--

"This time you've not even bothered to wait till our backs were turned.
So don't waste breath by crying and saying you didn't do it. You're not
my child; so I have no right to punish you. And I'm not going to. But I
want you to know you've just kicked something that's worth fifty of
you."

"You let me down!" Cyril snarled.

"Lad is to