me, as is the fate of a sickly
only child in an overbusy home. And he had the true craving of the
lonely for dog comradeship.

He thrust his none-too-clean hand through the wire mesh and patted the
puppy's silky head. Lass wiggled ecstatically under the unfamiliar
caress. All at once, in the boy's eyes, she became quite the most
wonderful animal and the very most desirable pet on earth.

"He's great!" sighed the youngster in admiration; adding naively: "Is
he Champion Rothsay Chief--the one whose picture was in The Bulletin
last Sunday?"

The kennel-man laughed noisily. Then he checked his mirth, for
professional reasons, as he remembered the nature of the boy's quest
and foresaw a bare possibility of getting rid of the unwelcome Lass.

"Nope," he said. "This isn't Chief. If it was, I guess your Uncle
Dick's check would have to have four figures in it before you could
make a deal. But this is one of Chief's daughters. This is Rothsay
Lass. A grand little girl, ain't she? Say,"--in a confidential
whisper,--"since you've took a fancy for her, maybe I could coax the
old man into lettin' you have her at an easy price. He was plannin' to
sell her for a hundred or so. But he goes pretty much by what I say. He
might let her go for--How much of a check did you say your uncle sent
you?"

"Twelve dollars," answered the boy,--"one for each year. Because I'm
named for him. It's my birthday, you know. But--but a dollar of it went
for the chain and the collar. How much do you suppose the gentleman
would want for Rothsay Lass?"

The kennel-man considered for a moment. Then he went back to the house,
leaving the lad alone at the gate of the run. Eleven dollars, for a
high-pedigreed collie pup, was a joke price. But no one else wanted
Lass, and her feed was costing more every day. According to Rothsay
standards, the list of brood-females was already complete. Even as a
gift, the kennels would be making money by getting rid of the
prick-eared "second." Wherefore he went to consult with the foreman.

Left alone with Lass, the boy opened the gate and went into the run. A
little to his surprise Lass neither shrank from him nor attacked him.
She danced about his legs in delight, varying this by jumping up and
trying to lick his excited face. Then she thrust her cold nose into the
cup of his hand as a plea to be petted.

When the kennel-man came back, the boy was sitting on the dusty ground
of the run, and Lass was curled up rapturo