"I'd be willing to bet a year's pay it 'all started' about six feet from shore in this lake," responded the Master, "and about a fortnight ago." But he spoke it in the depths of his own guiltily exultant heart. Outwardly, he merely grinned; and said with vacuous conviction: "Laddie, you're a grand dog. And,--if you didn't win that cup from Lochaber King in one way, you certainly won it in another!" CHAPTER IV. Hero-Stuff Life was monstrous pleasant, for Lad, at the Place. And never, except in early puppyhood, was he lonely. Never until the Master was so foolish as to decide in his own shallow human mind that the big collie would be happier with another collie for comrade and mate. After that, loneliness more than once crept into Laddie's serene life; and into the dark sorrowful eyes behind which lurked a soul. For, until one has known and relied on the companionship of one's kind, there can be no loneliness. The Master made another blunder--this one on his own account and on the Mistress's,--when he bought a second collie, to share Lad's realm of forest and lawn and lake. For, it is always a mistake to own two dogs at a time. A single dog is one's chum and guard and worshiper. If he be rightly treated and talked to and taught, he becomes all-but human. Because he is forced to rely solely on humans, for everything. And his mind and heart respond to this. There is no divided allegiance. One dog in a home is worth ten times as much to his owners, in every way, as are two or more dogs. Especially if the one dog be such a collie as Sunnybank Lad. This the Master was due to discover. On a sloppy and drippy and muggy afternoon, late in October,--one of those days nobody wants,--the Master came home from town; his fall overcoat showing a decided list to starboard in the shape of an egregiously bulged side-pocket. The Mistress and Lad, as ever, came forth to greet the returning man. Lad, with the gayly trumpeting bark which always he reserved for the Mistress or the Master after an absence of any length, cavorted rapturously up to his deity. But, midway in his welcoming advance, he checked himself; sniffing the sodden October air, and seeking to locate a new and highly interesting scent which had just assailed his sensitive nostrils. The Master put an end to the mystery, forthwith, by reaching deep into his overcoat's swollen pocket and fishing out a grayish golden ball of squirming fluff. This handful of liveliness he set gingerly on the veranda floor; where it revealed itself as an eight-weeks old collie pup. "Her name is 'Lady,'" expounded the Master, as he and the Mistress gazed interestedly down upon the sprawling and wiggling puppy. "Her pedigree reads like a page in Burke's Peerage. She--"