In two more bounds he had cleared the
barrier and was dancing in crazy excitement around the Mistress
and the Master; patting at them with his scorched feet; licking
their eagerly caressing hands; "talking" in a dozen different
keys of rapture, his whimpers and growls and gurgles running the
entire gamut of long-pent-up emotions.
His coat and his feet had, for hours, been immersed in the cold
water of the lake. And, he had fled through the embers at
express-train speed. Scarce a blister marked the hazardous
passage. But Lad would not have cared for all the blisters and
burns on earth. His dear gods had come back to him,--even as he
had known they would!
Once more,--and for the thousandth time--they had justified his
divine Faith in them. Nothing else mattered.
CHAPTER IX. Old Dog; New Tricks
A mildewed maxim runs: "You can't teach an old dog new tricks."
Some proverbs live because they are too true to die. Others
endure because they have a smug sound and because nobody has
bothered to bury them. The one about old dogs and new tricks
belongs in both categories.
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