he agent. "So would you be if I was
to put you in some kind of whale of a balloon and ship you off to Mars."

The station agent poked his hand through the slats and stroked the young
dog's head. Comet was grateful, for everything was strange. He had not
whined or complained on the trip--but his heart had pounded fast and he
had been homesick and bewildered.

And everything continued to be strange: the treeless country through
which he was driven, a country of vast swells, like a motionless sea;
the bald house, the group of huge red barns where he was lifted out and
the crate door opened; the dogs, setters and pointers, who crowded about
him when he was turned into the kennel yard.

They eyed him with enmity, these dogs; they walked round and round him
with stiffened tails; but he stood his ground staunchly for a youngster,
returning fierce look for fierce look, growl for growl, until Larsen
called him sharply and chained him to his own kennel.

He wagged his tail, eager for friendship, as the man stooped to do so.
He pushed his nose against the man's knee, but receiving no word of
encouragement, he crawled with dignity into his box. There he lay,
panting with the strangeness of it all, and wondering.

"One of George Devant's pointers," drawled Larsen to his assistant.
"Pretty to look at but--er--timid about the eyes. I never did think much
of that breed."

For days Comet remained chained to the kennel, a stranger in a strange
land. A hundred times at the click of the gate announcing Larsen's
entrance he sprang to his feet and stared hungrily at the man for the
light he was accustomed to see in human eyes. But with just a glance at
him, Larsen always turned one or more of the other dogs loose and rode
off to train them.

This he could not understand. Yet he was not without friends of his own
kind. He alone was chained up; and now and then another young dog
strolled his way with wagging tail and lay down near by, in that strange
bond of sympathy which is not confined to man. At these times Comet's
spirit returned; he would want to play, for he was still half puppy.
Sometimes he picked up a stick, shook it, and his partner caught the
other end. So they tugged and growled in mock ferocity, then lay down
and looked at each other curiously.

Had any attention been paid him by Larsen, Comet would have gotten over
his homesickness. He was no milksop. He was like an overgrown boy off at
college, or in some foreign cit