the yellow puppies would be claimed and that I should 

 have to take the odd one, or none at all ; so I began to 

 look upon him as mine already, and to take an interest in 

 him and look after him. A long time ago somebody 

 wrote that " the sense of possession turns sand into 

 gold," and it is one of the truest things ever said. 

 Until it seemed that this queer-looking odd puppy 

 was going to be mine I used to think and say very much 

 what the others did but with this difference, that I 

 always felt sorry for him, and sorry for Jess too, because 

 he was like her and not like the father. I used to 

 think that perhaps if he were given a chance he might 

 grow up like poor old Jess herself, ugly, cross and 

 unpopular, but brave and faithful. I felt sorry for 

 him, too, because he was small and weak, and the other 

 five big puppies used to push him away from his food 

 and trample on him ; and when they were old enough 

 to play they used to pull him about by his ears and 

 pack on to him three or four to one and bully him 

 horribly. Many a time I rescued him, and many a 

 time gave him a little preserved milk and water with 

 bread soaked in it when the others had shouldered 

 him out and eaten everything. 



After a little while, when my chance of getting 

 one of the good puppies seemed hopeless and I got 

 used to the idea that I would have to take the odd 

 one, I began to notice little things about him that 

 no one else noticed, and got to be quite fond of the 

 little beggar in a kind of way. Perhaps I was turning 

 my sand into gold, and my geese into swans ; perhaps 

 I grew fond of him simply because, finding him lonely 



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