Shimmering
orange tints blazed back the reflection of the torrid light.
He was Sunnybank Lad; eighty-pound collie; tawny and powerful;
with absurdly tiny white forepaws and with a Soul looking out
from his deep-set dark eyes. Chum and housemate he was to his two
human gods;--a dog, alone of all worshipers, having the privilege
of looking on the face of his gods and of communing with them
without the medium of priest or of prayer.
Lady, only, of the Place's bevy of Little People, refused from
earliest puppyhood to acknowledge Lad's benevolent rulership. She
bossed and teased and pestered him, unmercifully. And Lad not
only let her do all this, but he actually reveled in it. She was
his mate. More,--she was his idol. This idolizing of one mate, by
the way, is far less uncommon among dogs than we mere humans
realize.
The summer afternoon hush was split by the whirring chug of a
motor-car; that turned in from the highroad, two hundred yards
beyond the house, and started down through the oak grove, along
the winding driveway. Immediately, Lady was not only awake, but
on her feet, and in motion.
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