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Page 3
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*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*
Bruce by Albert Payson Terhune
TO MY TEN BEST FRIENDS:
Who are far wiser in their way and far better in every way, than
I; and yet who have not the wisdom to know it
Who do not merely think I am perfect, but who are calmly and
permanently convinced of my perfection;--and this in spite of
fifty disillusions a day
Who are frantically happy at my coming and bitterly woebegone in
my absence
Who never bore me and never are bored by me
Who never talk about themselves and who always listen with
rapturous interest to anything I may say
Who, having no conventional standards, have no respectability;
and who, having no conventional consciences, have no sins
Who teach me finer lessons in loyalty, in patience, in true
courtesy, in unselfishness, in divine forgiveness, in pluck and
in abiding good spirits than do all the books I have ever read
and all the other models I have studied
Who have not deigned to waste time and eyesight in reading a word
of mine and who will not bother to read this verbose tribute to
themselves
In short, to the most gloriously satisfactory chums who ever
appealed to human vanity and to human desire for companionship
TO OUR TEN SUNNYBANK COLLIES MY STORY IS GRATEFULLY AND
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
BRUCE by Albert Payson Terhune
CHAPTER I. The Coming Of Bruce
She was beautiful. And she had a heart and a soul--which were a
curse. For without such a heart and soul, she might have found
the tough life-battle less bitterly hard to fight.
But the world does queer things--damnable things--to hearts that
are so tenderly all-loving and to souls that are so trustfully
and forgivingly friendly as hers.
Her "pedigree name" was Rothsay Lass. She was a collie--daintily
fragile of build, sensitive of nostril, furrily tawny of coat.
Her ancestry was as flawless as any in Burke's Peerage.
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