of a cold nose thrust into his dejected hand.

Looking down he beheld Bruce staring up at him with a world of stark
appeal in his troubled gaze. The Master swallowed hard; then laid his
hand on the beautiful head pressed so confidingly against his knee.
Turning, he led the dog back to the quarters assigned to him.

"Stay here, old friend!" he commanded, huskily. "It's all right. You'll
make good. I know that. And there's a chance in a billion that you'll
come back to us. I'm--I'm not deserting you. And I guess there's
precious little danger that any one on The Place will ever forget you.
It's--it's all right. Millions of humans are doing it. I'd give
everything I've got, if I could go, too. IT'S ALL RIGHT!"

Then Bruce understood at last that he was to stay in this place of
abominations, far from everything he loved; and that he must do so
because the Master ordained it. He made no further effort to break away
and to follow his god ashore. But he shivered convulsively from head to
foot; and his desolate gaze continued to trace the Master's receding
figure out of sight. Then, with a long sigh, he lay down, heavily, his
head between his white forepaws, and resigned himself to whatever of
future misery his deities might have ordained for him.

Ensued a fortnight of mental and bodily anguish, as the inland-reared
dog tasted the horrors of a voyage in a rolling ship, through heaving
seas. Afterward, came the landing at a British port and the train ride
to the camp which was to be his home for the next three months.

Bruce's sense of smell told him the camp contained more dogs than ever
he had beheld in all his brief life put together. But his hearing would
have led him to believe there were not a dozen other dogs within a mile
of him.

From the encampment arose none of the rackety barking which betokens
the presence of many canines, and which deafens visitors to a dog-show.

One of the camp's first and most stringent rules forbade barking,
except under special order. These dogs--or the pick of them--were
destined for work at the front. The bark of a dog has a carrying
quality greater than the combined shouting of ten men. It is the last
sound to follow a balloonist, after he has risen above the reach of all
other earth-noises.

Hence, a chance bark, rising through the night to where some enemy
airman soared with engines turned off, might well lead to the bombing
of hitherto unlocated trenches or detachment-camps. For