brutal cruelty can be proved or unless the parents are unfit to
bring up the child."

"Brutal cruelty?" echoed the Mistress. "What could be more brutal than
the way he beats her? Why, last week there was a bruise on her arm as
big--"

"What can we prove? He has a legal right to punish her. If we got them
up in court, he'd frighten her into swearing she hurt her arm on a
fence picket and that he never harms her. No, there's no sort of cure
for the rotten state of affairs."

But the Master was mistaken. There was a very good cure indeed for it.
And that cure was being applied at the moment he denied its existence.

Sonya had disappeared from view over the crest of the lawn: Down into
the orchard she went, Lad at her side; to where Ruloff was waiting for
her to lug another full basket back to the house.

"Move!" he ordered, as she drew near. "Don't crawl! Move, or I'll make
you move."

This threat he voiced very bravely indeed. He was well out of sight of
the house. The superintendent and the two other men were working on the
far side of the hill. It seemed an eminently safe time to exercise his
parental authority. And, hand uplifted, he took a threatening step
toward the little girl.

Sonya cowered back in mortal dread. There was no mistaking the import
of Ruloff's tone or gesture. Lad read it as clearly as did the child.
As Sonya shrank away from the menace, a furry shoulder was pressed
reassuringly against her side. Lad's cold muzzle was thrust for the
merest instant into her trembling hand.

Then, as Ruloff advanced, Lad took one majestic step forward; his great
body shielding the girl; his dark eyes sternly on the man's; his lips
drawing back from his blunted yellow fangs. Deep in his throat a growl
was born.

Ruloff checked himself; looking doubtfully at the shaggy brute. And at
the same moment the superintendent appeared over the ridge of the hill,
on his way to the orchard. The Slav picked up a filled basket and
shoved it at Sonya.

"Jump!" he ordered. "Keep moving. Be back here in one minute!"

With a sigh of enormous relief and a pat of furtive gratitude to Lad,
the child set forth on her errand. Yet, even at risk of a sharper
rebuke, she accommodated her pace to Lad's stately slow steps.

Hitherto she had loved the dog for no special reason except that her
heart somehow went out to him. But now she had a practical cause for
her devotion. Lad had stood between her and a fist blow. He had risked,