Neither of them spoke. There was nothing to say; but Lad realized more keenly than could a human that both his gods were wretchedly unhappy, and his great heart yearned pathetically to comfort them. "There's one consolation," said a woman at work on a dog in the opposite bench, "Lochinvar's not entered for anything except the Maury Cup. The clerk told me so." "Little good that will do any of us!" retorted her bench-neighbor. "In an all-specialty show, the winner of the Maury Trophy will go up for the 'Winners Class,' and that means Lochinvar will get the cup for the 'Best Collie,' as well as the Maury Cup and probably the cup for 'Best Dog of any Breed,' too. And----" "The Maury Cup is the first collie event on the programme," lamented the other. "It's slated to be called before even the Puppy and the Novice classes. Mr. Glure has----" "Contestants for the Maury Trophy--all out!" bawled an attendant at the end of the section. The Master unclasped the chain from Lad's collar, snapped the light show-ring leash in its place and handed the leash to the Mistress. "Unless you'd rather have me take him in?" he whispered. "I hate to think of your handling a loser." "I'd rather take Lad to defeat than any other dog to--a Gold Hat," she answered, sturdily. "Come along, Laddie!" The Maury contest, naturally, could not be decided in the regular show-ring. Mr. Glure had thoughtfully set aside a quadrangle of greensward for the Event--a quadrangle bounded by four white and numbered posts, and bearing a larger white post in its center. A throng of people was already banked deep on all four sides of the enclosure when the Mistress arrived. The collie judge standing by the central post declaimed loudly the conditions of the contest. Then he asked for the first entrant. This courtier of failure chanced to be the only other local dog besides Lad that had survived the first two clauses of the conditions. He chanced also to be the dog over which the pretty girl had been crying. The girl's eyes were still red through a haze of powder as she led her slender little gold-and-snow collie into the ring. She had put on a filmy white muslin dress with gold ribbons that morning with the idea of matching her dog's coloring. She looked very sweet and dainty--and heartsore. At the central post she glanced up hopelessly at the judge who stood beside her. The judge indicated Post No. 1 with a nod. The girl blinked at the distant post, then at her collie, after which she pointed to the post. "Run on over there, Mac!" she pleaded. "That's a good boy!" The little collie wagged his tail, peered expectantly at her, and barked. But he did not stir. He had not the faintest idea what she wanted him to do, although he would have been glad to do it. Wherefore, the bark.