His course, thus, brought him directly past the church.

As he trotted by the steps, the Red Cross nurse, who sat sewing there, chirped timidly at him.  Bruce paused in his leisurely progress to see who had accosted him whether an old acquaintance, to be greeted as such, or merely a pleasantly inclined stranger.

His soft brown eyes rested first in idle inquiry upon the angular and white-robed figure on the steps.  Then, on the instant, the friendly inquiring look left his eyes and their softness went with it—­leaving the dog’s gaze cold and frankly hostile.

One corner of Bruce’s lips slowly lifted, revealing a tiny view of the terrible white fangs behind them.  His gayly erect head was lowered, and in the depths of his furry throat a growl was born.  When a dog barks and holds his head up, there is little enough to fear from him.  But when he lowers his head and growl—­then look out.

Mahan knew dogs.  In stark amazement he now noted Bruce’s strange attitude toward the nurse.  Never before had he seen the dog show active hostility toward a stranger—­least of all toward a stranger who had in no way molested him.  It was incredible that the wontedly dignified and sweet-tempered collie had thus returned a greeting.  Especially from a woman!

Mahan had often seen Red Cross nurses stop to caress Bruce.  He had been amused at the dog’s almost protective cordiality toward all women, whether the French peasants or the wearers of the brassard of mercy.

Toward men—­except those he had learned to look on as friends—­ the collie always comported himself with a courteous aloofness But he had seemed to regard every woman as something to be humored and guarded and to be treated with the same cordial friendliness that he bestowed on their children—­which is the way of the best type of collie.  Yet Bruce had actually snarled at this woman who had chirped to him from the steps of the church!  And he showed every sign of following up the challenge by still more drastic measures.

“Bruce!” called Mahan sharply.  “Bruce!  Shame!  Come over here!  Come, now!”

At the Sergeant’s vehement summons Bruce turned reluctantly away from the foot of the church steps and came across the street toward the estaminet.  He came slowly.  Midway he halted and looked back over his shoulder at the nurse, his fangs glinting once more in a snarl.  At a second and more emphatic call from Mahan the dog continued his progress.

The nurse had started back in alarm at the collie’s angry demonstration.  Now, gathering up her work, she retreated into the church.

“I’m sorry, Miss!” Mahan shouted after her.  “I never saw him that way, before, when a lady spoke to him.  If it was any dog but old Bruce, I’d give him a whaling for acting like that to you.  I’m dead-sure he didn’t mean any harm.”

“Oh, I was going in, anyway,” replied the nurse, from the doorway.  “It is of no consequence.”