Further Adventures of Lad | Page 3

print!"
statement. You may however, if you wish, distribute this etext in
machine readable binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- cessing or
hypertext software, but only so long as *EITHER*:
[*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and does *not*
contain characters other than those intended by the author of the work,
although tilde (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may be used

to convey punctuation intended by the author, and additional characters
may be used to indicate hypertext links; OR
[*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at no expense into
plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent form by the program that displays
the etext (as is the case, for instance, with most word processors); OR
[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at no additional
cost, fee or expense, a copy of the etext in its original plain ASCII form
(or in EBCDIC or other equivalent proprietary form).
[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this "Small
Print!" statement.
[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the net profits
you derive calculated using the method you already use to calculate
your applicable taxes. If you don't derive profits, no royalty is due.
Royalties are payable to "Project Gutenberg
Association/Carnegie-Mellon University" within the 60 days following
each date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) your annual
(or equivalent periodic) tax return.
WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU
DON'T HAVE TO?
The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, scanning
machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty free copyright
licenses, and every other sort of contribution you can think of. Money
should be paid to "Project Gutenberg Association / Carnegie-Mellon
University".
*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN
ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*

FURTHER ADVENTURES OF LAD by ALBERT PAYSON
TERHUNE
FOREWORD

Sunnybank Lad won a million friends through my book, "LAD: A
DOG"; and through the Lad-anecdotes in "Buff: A Collie." These
books themselves were in no sense great. But Laddie was great in every
sense; and his life-story could not be marred, past interest, by my
clumsy way of telling it.
People have written in gratifying numbers asking for more stories about
Lad. More than seventeen hundred visitors have come all the way to
Sunnybank to see his grave. So I wrote the collection of tales which are
now included in "Further Adventures of Lad." Most of them appeared,
in condensed form, in the Ladies' Home Journal.
Very much, I hope you may like them.
ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE "Sunnybank" Pompton Lakes, New
Jersey

FURTHER ADVENTURES OF LAD

CHAPTER I
. The Coming Of Lad
In the mile-away village of Hampton, there had been a veritable
epidemic of burglaries--ranging from the theft of a brand-new ash-can
from the steps of the Methodist chapel to the ravaging of Mrs.
Blauvelt's whole lineful of clothes, on a washday dusk.
Up the Valley and down it, from Tuxedo to Ridgewood, there had been
a half-score robberies of a very different order--depredations wrought,
manifestly, by professionals; thieves whose motor cars served the
twentieth century purpose of such historic steeds as Dick Turpin's
Black Bess and Jack Shepard's Ranter. These thefts were in the line of
jewelry and the like; and were as daringly wrought as were the modest
local operators' raids on ash-can and laundry.
It is the easiest thing in the world to stir humankind's ever- tense
burglar-nerves into hysterical jangling. In house after house, for miles
of the peaceful North Jersey region, old pistols were cleaned and
loaded; window fastenings and doorlocks were inspected and new
hiding-places found for portable family treasures.
Across the lake from the village, and down the Valley from a dozen
country homes, seeped the tide of precautions. And it swirled at last
around the Place,--a thirty-acre homestead, isolated and sweet, whose
grounds ran from highway to lake; and whose wistaria-clad gray house

drowsed among big oaks midway between road and water; a furlong or
more distant from either.
The Place's family dog,--a pointer,--had died, rich in years and honor.
And the new peril of burglary made it highly needful to choose a
successor for him.
The Master talked of buying a whalebone-and-steel-and-snow bull
terrier, or a more formidable if more greedy Great Dane. But the
Mistress wanted a collie. So they compromised by getting the collie.
He reached the Place in a crampy and smelly crate; preceded by a long
envelope containing an intricate and imposing pedigree. The
burglary-preventing problem seemed solved.
But when the crate was opened and its occupant stepped gravely forth,
on the Place's veranda, the problem was revived.
All the Master and the Mistress had known about the newcomer,--apart
from his price and lofty lineage,--was that his breeder had