On plodded Lad. Vaguely, he was beginning to hate this new game played without known rules and in the presence of a crowd. Lad abominated a crowd. But it was the Mistress' bidding, and in her dear voice his quick hearing could read what no human could read--a hard-fought longing to cry. It thrilled the big dog, this subtle note of grief. And all he could do to ease her sorrow, apparently, was to obey this queer new whim of hers as best he might. He had continued his unwilling march as far as another post when the welcome word of recall came--the recall that would bring him close again to his sorrowing deity. With a bound he started back to her. But, for the second time, came that palm-forward gesture and the cry of "Stop! Go _back!_" Lad paused reluctantly and stood panting. This thing was getting on his fine-strung nerves. And nervousness ever made him pant. The Mistress pointed in still another direction, and she was calling almost beseechingly: "Go on, Lad! Go _on!_" Her pointing hand waved him ahead and, as before, he followed its guidance. Walking heavily, his brain more and more befogged, Lad obeyed. This time he did not stop to look to her for instructions. From the new vehemence of the Mistress' gesture she had apparently been ordering him off the field in disgrace, as he had seen puppies ordered from the house. Head and tail down, he went. But, as he passed by the third of those silly posts, she recalled him. Gleeful to know he was no longer in disgrace he galloped toward the Mistress; only to be halted again by that sharp gesture and sharper command before he had covered a fifth of the distance from the post to herself. The Mistress was actually pointing again--more urgently than ever--and in still another direction. Now her voice had in it a quiver that even the humans could detect; a quiver that made its sweetness all but sharp. "Go on, Lad! Go _on!_" Utterly bewildered at his usually moodless Mistress' crazy mood and spurred by the sharp reprimand in her voice Lad moved away at a crestfallen walk. Four times he stopped and looked back at her, in piteous appeal, asking forgiveness of the unknown fault for which she was ordering him away; but always he was met by the same fierce "Go _on!_" And he went. Of a sudden, from along the tight-crowded edges of the quadrangle, went up a prodigious handclapping punctuated by such foolish and ear-grating yells as "Good _boy!_" "_Good_ old Laddie!" "He _did_ it!" And through the looser volume of sound came the Mistress' call of: "Laddie! Here, _Lad!_" In doubt, Lad turned to face her. Hesitatingly he went toward her expecting at every step that hateful command of "Go _back!_" But she did not send him back. Instead, she was running forward to meet him. And out of her face the sorrow--but not the desire to cry--had been swept away by a tremulous smile.