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 chase him. Wow, wow! What a fright it had given him. He certainly would keep away from that roadway with the straight shining sticks.

So with all these precautions firmly in mind, Pierre did not get into as much trouble that day as he had the day before; but he did not find anything to eat for a long time. Gradually he learned a very sorry lesson which made his running away much harder to bear. Whenever he appeared at a farmhouse where there was another dog, that dog usually barked at him and drove him away. If there wasn't any dog, the people drove him away. Sometimes they merely shouted, but more often they threw things at him.

So the painful fact that he was an outcast was gradually driven home to the luckless Pierre. From being the petted


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 and pampered favorite of the great lady, he had gone at one bound into a world that gave him the cold shoulder on every hand.

No one in the whole world wanted him. He did not belong to any one. Other dogs owned houses, and had masters and mistresses.

Other dogs owned teams and could run behind them. Other dogs had queer little houses that they slept in in the back yard.

Pierre had never seen a kennel in France, but he did envy these American dogs sticking their heads out of their cute little houses.

So as the day drew on to its close a great sense of loneliness and heartsickness came over Pierre. If some one would only speak to him, or whistle for him to come. He would give almost anything if he

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 could only feel a human hand on his head, or some one running his ears through their fingers.

Also, the pangs of hunger were gnawing at his vitals, and this double discomfort was almost unendurable. But about dusk he spied a man dumping some refuse in an open lot. The man was shoveling it from a wagon. A dog was lying on the grass watching him. So Pierre knew the man and team belonged to that dog.

Finally the man finished and drove away, and the dog trotted after the team. From where he was hiding behind a fence watching them, Pierre thought he could smell raw meat. When he finally crept up to where the team had been, he discovered that it was indeed raw meat. But it was not the sort he was used to.

Porterhouse? Well, I should say not.


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26 the bridles they wheeled in knightly wise and the two fierce champions encountered with their swords. Then smote Sir Siegfried, so that the whole field did ring. Through the hero’s hand from out the helmets, as from firebrands, flew the bright red sparks. Each in the other found his match. Sir Liudegast, too, struck many a savage blow; the might of each broke full upon the shields. Thirty of Liudegast’s men stood there on guard, but ere they could come to his aid, Siegfried had won the fight, with three great wounds which he dealt the king through his gleaming breastplate, the which was passing good. The blood from the wounds gushed forth along the edges of the sword, whereat King Liudegast stood in sorry mood. He begged for life and made offrance of his lands and said that his name was Liudegast. Then came his warriors, who had witnessed what there had happed upon the lookout. As Siegfried would lead his captive thence, he was set upon by thirty of these men. With mighty blows the hero’s hand guarded his noble prize. The stately knight then wrought worse scathe. In self-defense he did thirty unto death; only one he left alive, who rode full fast to tell the tale of what here had chanced. By his reddened helmet one might see the truth. It sorely grieved the men of Denmark, when the tale was told them that their king was taken captive. Men told it to his brother, who at the news began to rage with monstrous wrath, for great woe it brought him.

Liudegast, the warrior, then was led away by Siegfried’s might to Gunther’s men and given to Hagen in charge. When that they heard it was the king, full moderate was their dole. The Burgundians now were


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 The man was a butcher and the meat was the refuse from a steer that he had killed that afternoon.

Pierre tasted a piece and it made him gag so he spit it out. Then he tried another piece, but that was just as bad.

So he went all through the pile trying vainly to find something to his liking. At last he sat down on his tail before the sorry meat and a great sense of homesickness and loneliness came over him. It was so great that although he was an Airedale and a dog with a stout heart, yet he lifted his muzzle and howled dismally.

Pierre was so wrapt in grief and so overpowered with a sense of his loss that he did not even notice the Killer until he heard a deep growl almost beside him. Wheeling sharply, he came face to face with the ugliest-looking old bulldog that


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 he had ever seen. He was a dirty white. His ears were chewed to ribbons and he had lost one eye. His coat was rusty. His eyes were bloodshot and his lips were wrinkled up into an habitual snarl. He looked so belligerent that Pierre instinctively drew back.

"Growl, growl, growl," said the Killer wrinkling his lips up still further. "If you ain't a pretty purp to sit here on your aristocratic tail howling like a fool, when there is such a fine dinner right here before your very nose."

"Ki-i, yi-i," whimpered Pierre. "But I tried to eat it and I couldn't. It made me sick. It is vile stuff."

The old bull drew back and looked at Pierre intently for several seconds; then he resumed his deep growling. Pierre finally decided this growling did not mean


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 the whole Party on the Party Congress should unitedly put an end to the fractional conflicts and achieve complete power of action.

The Executive of the Communist International calls the attention of every member of the German Communist Party and of all the other Sections of the Communist International to the gigantic tasks of the present revolutionary crisis. The Executive is firmly convinced that the experiences of the last few months have not been in vain, and if they are carefully studied and utilised, will bring the victory of the proletariat nearer.

The Communist Party of Germany, which has assumed the immediate task of freeing the proletarian masses from the influence of reformism, fights with the same determination as heretofore against the slogan "Leave the Trade Unions."

The Communists, who remain and work whereever there are proletarian masses with increased energy, and in view of the disintegration of the ranks of the social-democrats—probably with increased success, form their Communist fractions, which serve as the centres of the revolitionaryrevolutionary [sic] trade union movement.

At the present moment, when the Party has been declared illegal and is forced to make use of every possibility of legal action, this is of particular importance.

The Communists, as heretofore, are opposed to splits and combat this policy of the Social-Democrats even when the latter exclude them from the trade unions. The preservation of unity in the trade union movement is particularly important during the period of the capitalist offensive and the growth of re-action.

Those who have been expelled from the trade unions, as well as those sections of the working class which have not yet been organised into trade unions, must be organised by the Communists in accordance with the conerete situation prevailing in each individual trade union. Therefore it is imperative that the Communists understand how to apply various and manifold methods (factory councils, control committees, dual trade unions of expelled members, general worker's committees, committees of unemployed, &c.), without being tied down to any one of the methods and forms of opposition. The General Committee of the


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 very much, but the old fellow had gotten into the habit of growling about everything; it was sort of second nature with him.

"Couldn't eat it, did you say? Made you sick? Well, my fine dandy, you must be somebody's woolly lamb dog. You must be a sort of blanket poodle. Might I inquire just who you are and where you came from?"

Pierre did not notice the irony in the old bull's tones and was all eagerness to tell his story. He wagged his tail vehemently and smiled his very best dog smile.

"You see," he said, edging up close to the old fighter and becoming confidential, "I am a stranger in these parts. My home is in France.

"That is away off, far across the great water. We came in a mighty floating


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 house. There were lots of folks and a few dogs.

"My mistress is a very great lady. She goes about in a house on wheels. Lots of people came to see us. They all used to pet me and Mistress would tell them how smart I was. You see I am a war hero. This is my War Cross on the chain about my neck."

But instead of admiring him as Pierre had expected, the old bull growled still more savagely than before. His one eye also seemed to be watching Pierre suspiciously. Finally the Killer spoke between deep growls.

"You are a four-flusher," he said. "You can't pull that stuff on me. I ain't a woolly lamb, purp. I wasn't born yesterday. You are a four-flusher."

"What is that?" asked Pierre timidly.


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 "Is it something good? Do men like it? They all like me. So do the women when they know me—all but Marie."

"You are a four-flusher," repeated the Killer. "That ain't anything good, either. You are a liar, a cheat, a pretender, a hoax.

"You are a cheat. You a War Dog, a hero! Wow, wow, wow! I am half a mind to shake you up for trying to put such a yarn over on me. Don't do it any more, my fine fellow, if you don't want your sleek coat chewed up a bit. I am a rough one, I am. I could chew the nose off you in just about a minute," and he growled even more savagely.

"I didn't mean to offend you," whimpered Pierre. "But I am a War"

"We won't say any more about that," growled the old bull. "You just sit there


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 on your tail and watch me while I make my supper. I am as hungry as a—a—a"

But the old bull's mouth was so full of the dirty meat that he could not finish the sentence.

For several minutes Pierre watched him and, as his hunger seemed almost unbearable, he tried again to eat some of the meat.

But the way in which he worried down a bit here and a morsel there quite disgusted the Killer.

"My eye!" he growled. "I should think you was a dandy. What did they feed you on, anyhow?"

"The very best of steak and raw eggs and cake and cream," whimpered Pierre. "This meat almost makes me vomit."

"Don't try to pull any more of your lies


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 on me, or I will shake you up. But you do look and act like a dandy. I hate dandies. Their fine coats always make me want to roll them in the mud.

"I don't know why I didn't you. But there is something about you I rather like. You look like a thoroughbred. I have some pedigree myself. You wouldn't believe it to see me now.

"But my sire was a blue-ribbon dog at the New York bench and my dam could chew the ear off any thoroughbred bull that ever ran on four legs. She was a terror, she was. I take after her. But still I have got the pedigree. Mighty little good it does me now. I have seen better days, my fine fellow. I suppose you reminded me of it. That was why I spoke to you instead of chewing you up. When you are through picking about, I


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 will take you for an enterprise that is worth while.

"Perhaps we may taste warm blood. Wow, but I am thirsty for it. If you are a War Dog and have smelled gunpowder, you wouldn't be afraid. But you needn't join me if you don't want to.

"You don't look much like a War Dog. I guess you are a four-flusher."


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the dog is the friend and ally of man, doing much to guard and protect his property, yet he occasionally reverts to his wolf ancestry and becomes destructive. This is true in very rare instances of the faithful sheep dogs. There is something about the stupid sheep that seems to invite destruction.

They are so easily frightened and run so readily that what often begins as boisterous play on the part of the dogs ends as a bloody affair.

Now it happened that poor Pierre had fallen in with a Killer

Not a sheep dog gone bad, but just a natural scallywag among dogs. The


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 enterprise to which he had alluded was nothing more or less than a sheep-killing expedition.

It was a beautiful October evening. The hunter's moon was at its full. The stars were so thick in the heavens and so luminous that it was almost bright as day. The air was clear and crisp, and there was a tang about it that went to the blood like old wine. Both dogs felt it as they trotted away to a distant pasture where the sheep were kept. In the daytime they fed in a large pasture, but each night they came up to a smaller pasture, where the lambs were kept in the early spring. This small lot was well fenced, with wire netting at the bottom to keep the lambs from getting through.

As they approached the lot, the old bull became wary and they crept forward


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 slowly, keeping close to the ground. But even so, the Killer was much more conspicuous than was Pierre. The Airedale was all excitement, for the Killer had told him it was all sorts of fun and had promised him that he might kill a sheep for himself.

Now the Killer knew full well that the sheep were the farmer's property. He knew that it was wrong to kill them and he also knew that it was risky business on which he was taking the Airedale.

But poor Pierre, who was quite ignorant on all these points, thought it just a great lark.

Finally they came in sight of the pasture. They crept along in the shadow of some bushes until they reached a spot that satisfied the Killer. Then they got down on their bellies and started to dig under the


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 wire netting. Half an hour's work made a hole large enough to admit them. The Killer crawled under the fence first, and Pierre followed.

It happened that the Killer had been upon just such an expedition in this same pasture about a week before. He had been discovered and had escaped with his hide well peppered wih bird shot. A strict watch had been kept on the sheep ever since. Even at the moment when the two dogs crawled out from under the fence and entered the lot, a man and two boys were lying in wait behind the fence on the other side of the lot. Two of them had shotguns, but one of the boys carried a Winchester rifle.

The Killer threw all precaution to the winds once he spied the sheep. Probably the thought of warm blood destroyed his


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 sense of prudence. He immediately started in pursuit of a half—grown lamb. It was lucky for Pierre that his dark coat made him less conspicuous than his companion, also that he did not at once join in the chase.

The chase had hardly begun when Bang, bang, bang! went the guns with ki-yi, ki-yi, ki-yi! from the Killer. The boy with the rifle had missed him, but the two shotguns had filled him with shot.

"Ki-yi, ki-yi, ki-yi! It's the men with their guns, run!" yelped the old bull, making for the hole under the fence.

Pierre was much excited himself, but he had seen such sights as this before. He had also heard those deafening noises, only much louder. It was war. It was like the day when he had found the Colonel and carried the letter to his mistress. So he


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 Expelled Members Leagues and the union will work in close co-operation with the National Committee of the Factory Councils. Under these conditions, the party must carry on its work with special care, energy, and system among the unorganised and non-party masses, in order to prevent the break-up of the working class which is the aim of the trade union bureaucrats.

In refusing to negotiate with the leaders of the reformist trade union movement as well as with the leaders of the Social Democrats, who are actually allies of the bourgeoisie and of Fascism, the Communists must understand how to carry out the United Front from below in the trade unions by allying the masses of the proletariat organised in the trade unions with those yet unorganised, on the basis of their every-day struggles, and by winning over to this struggle those sections of the working class which have not yet broken away from the Social Democrats. In this connection, the negotiations and agreements between the Communists and the local trade union organisations (local groups, cartels, &c.) in the interest of the struggle, not only do not contradict the tactics of the United Front from below, but on the contrary, provide an important weapon against the trade union bureaucracy and the reformists.

In those cases where the Communists work in co-operation with the Social Democratic workers in the factories and in the organisations, it is the duty of the Communists, in addition to co-ordinating their practical activities, to advance their fundamental standpoint, and ruthlessly criticise the mistakes, the indecision, and the inconsistency of the demands of the Social Democrats.

The Communist Party must openly and clearly explain to the workers:


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 was not nearly so much excited as the bulldog.

"Ki-yi, where is the hole under the fence?" yelped the bull.

"I am blinded. I cannot see. You must show me. They will get me."

Then the three guns went bang, bang, bang again. This time Pierre himself felt the sharp sting of several shot and he knew full well what it was that made the Killer yelp. Either they were being stung by bees or else it was something connected with the loud noise that stung their hides so. Anyhow, they must get out of this lot, or be stung to death.

"Here, this way," sniffed Pierre. "Here is the hole."

But he had spoken too late to help his companion, for at the same instant the Winchester barked again and the


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 Killer fell kicking on the ground beside Pierre.

Pierre knew instinctively that the old dog was mortally wounded, just as all animals know these things. He must save himself. He turned to crawl under the fence but could not discover the hole. He ran this way and that but could not find it. He was trapped.

What should he do? All the time he was running desperately about, the banging was going on. Shot were stinging his hide and the Winchester was ripping up grass all about him. It was only the fact that he ran so continuously that saved him from the fate of the old killer. Finally a bullet cut a lock of hair from his face and he decided to rush the wire fence. He did not know whether he could go through it or not, but it was the only way.


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 It looked ugly. It would probably tear his face, but it was his only chance. So he shut his eyes and sprang against it with all his might, keeping his head low.

There was a sensation of his face being scratched with a thorn bush, like the one he had gotten into when a puppy at the château.

The thorns also raked along his back. He thought his hide would be torn off him. But at last he was through. His heart gave a great bound of delight. He had escaped. Now he would run for it. But he was too sure of himself. His congratulations were too previous. For just then the boy with the Winchester got a good bead on him and sent a bullet ripping through his flank. It was a very bad wound, but luckily only a flesh wound. Otherwise his story might have ended then


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 and there. Pierre thought at first that he could not step. He was faint and sick. They had mortally wounded him, just as they had the Killer.

Then the sense of self-preservation asserted itself. He must flee. If he stayed there, they would surely kill him. So he set his teeth, and his splendid fighting strength came to his aid.

His ancestors had all been good fighters, and why not he?

He must flee, but where? It did not matter much as long as he ran fast and far. So he sped away on three legs, leaving his companion in this desperate night's work dead in the sheep pasture.

They fired two or three more shots at him but finally he disappeared and the fusillade ceased.

But poor Pierre still seemed to hear the


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 deafening sounds long after he had passed out of range. The night was full of horrors. The whole world was full of fierce men with thunder sticks and they were all after him.

Finally the roadway led through a deep wood, and Pierre was very glad. He left the road and struck off into the woods.

The darker it was and the thicker the underbrush the better it suited him. Here was a place to hide. The sweet green woods protected him, just as it has many another hunted animal, or even man.

Finally in the very heart of the woods he crawled under the top of a fallen tree to rest. He was so weak he could hardly stand. His breath came in wheezy gasps. He lay very still and tried to sleep.

But the wound pained him intensely, so he sat up and licked it steadily for an hour.


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 Then he discovered that he was very thirsty.

He could hear water running close at hand, so he crept cautiously out and slaked his thirst. Then he went back to his treetop to rest some more.

For three days Pierre slept and rested under the treetop, going often to the little stream to slake his thirst. He ate no food, only slept and drank cool, refreshing water.

On the fifth day, he came forth from hiding. The wound had healed so perfectly that it would have troubled any one to discover it under his thick coat. He limped slightly for a few hours but finally even that discomfort disappeared and he was his own active self, only prodigiously hungry. He at once remembered the bad meat where he had met the Killer. He


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Rh bidden raise their banner. “Up, men,” cried Siegfried, “here shall more be done, ere the day end, and I lose not my life. Full many a stately dame in Saxon land shall rue this fight. Ye heroes from the Rhine, give heed to me, for I can guide you well to Liudeger’s band. So shall ye see helmets carved by the hands of goodly knights; ere we turn again, they shall become acquaint with fear.”

To their horses Gernot and all his men now hasted, and soon the stalwart minstrel, Sir Folker, grasped the battle-flag and rode before the band. Then were all the comrades arrayed in lordly wise for strife; nor had they more than a thousand men, and thereto Siegfried’s twelve men-at-arms. Now from the road gan rise the dust, as across the land they rode; many a lordly shield was seen to gleam from out their midst. There, too, were come the Saxons with their troops and well-sharpened swords, as I since have heard. Sore cut these weapons in the heroes’ hands, for they would fain guard both their castles and their land against the strangers. The lordings’ marshals led on the troop. Siegfried, too, was come with his men-at-arms, whom he had brought from Netherland. In the storm of battle many a hand this day grew red with blood. Sindolt and Hunolt and Gernot, too, slew many a knight in the strife, ere these rightly knew the boldness of their foes. This many a stately dame must needs bewail. Folker and Hagen and Ortwin, too, dimmed in the battle the gleam of many a helm with flowing blood, these storm-bold men. By Dankwart, too, great deeds were done.

The men of Denmark proved well their hands; one


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 had no difficulty in finding it and he was astonished to discover how good it tasted.

When he had eaten until he could hold no more, he took to the open road. He would find his mistress if he had to run his legs off. She had been so good to him. They had all been good to him. What a fool he had been to run away. But instead of finding the actress, he discovered some new friends.


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was Sunday morning at Sunnyside Cottage, where lived an author and his wife, and they were at breakfast.

Now the Sunday morning meal at Sunnyside is a very leisurely affair, with the different dishes sandwiched in between fragments from the morning paper.

They had finished the grapefruit, and were sampling the Sunday sermon, when there came a timid tat-a-tat-tat at the screen door on the front piazza.

"I wonder who it is?" inquired the author, and to answer the question the mistress got up and went to the door.

There upon the mat sat a sorrowful figure. A stump of a tail was slowly and


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 gently thumping the door-mat as though feeling its way cautiously. The head was downcast, but the mistress might have noticed, had she looked sharply, that the bright eyes were watching her narrowly.

The whole attitude was apologetic, as though he excused himself for being there at that time of day, and looking so bedraggled.

"Good-morning, Mr. Dog," said the mistress cheerily.

The stump of the tail began thumping the mat more quickly and with greater determination, and the bright, quizzical face was turned up inquiringly.

"Please, lady," it seemed to be saying, "I am cold and hungry. The world outside is a great lonesome place, and it looks very inviting inside your house."

The mistress read the dog thought


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 rightly, so she opened the door and asked, "Will you come in, Mr. Dog?"

Pierre needed no second invitation, and slipped inside quickly as though fearing she might change her mind when she saw the sad condition of his toilet.

On the threshold of the living-room, he stopped doubtfully.

"Will you step in and take a chair, Mr. Dog?" inquired the kind lady.

Without the slightest hesitation, and seeming to comprehend what was said perfectly, Pierre slipped over the threshold and made for the master's easy-chair.

He reached this favorite seat with an easy bound as though he was used to the best chair, and there he sat straight as a drum-major, ears cocked, eyes snapping, waiting for the next move on this interesting program.


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 The mistress returned to the dining-room, and without a sign of a smile, said, "There is a gentleman in the sitting-room who wishes to see you."

The author swallowed a gulp of coffee to be primed for any emergency and went to the living-room, and there in the best chair sat Mr. Dog.

"Well, well, this is taking some liberties," said the master sternly, for Pierre's paws were muddy, and the chair was almost new. This was rather too much to be endured calmly, even by a lover of dogs.

If a dog could be described as blushing, Pierre blushed, and a look of shame overspread his face.

His whole manner and expression seemed to say, "I know I am very shabby this morning, but I am down on my luck. You do not think I am a tramp, do you?


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 Really, I am used to the very best things. I am sorry about my paws."

The man smiled in spite of a determination to be very stern with a tramp who took such liberties. The smile did not escape the snapping, intelligent eyes.

Pierre got down from the chair deliberately, and came mincingly towards the author, the stub tail wagging feebly, dejection and tragic dog despair in every motion.

"Oh, it isn't so bad as that, Mr. Dog," said the man. "I see you are really a gentleman. We all have our ups and downs."

The Airedale stopped and listened intently to what the man said. He was watching for the intonation, to see whether it was friendly or not.

He probably concluded in his own favor,


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 for he began walking slowly about the master, sniffing eagerly at his trousers.

Twice he made the circle, and then he looked up into the man's face with a bright relieved expression, and gave two short glad barks.

"You think I will do?" the man asked. Pierre barked twice, which was interpreted as "Why, you will do, perhaps not quite up to my real master, but still a rather good fellow who knows dogs."

Then it was that the man noticed the chain about the dog's neck and the War Cross.

"What have we here?" he inquired. "A decorated knight, or a soldier?"

He reached for the cross to examine it. Pierre backed away, wrinkling his upper lip and looking belligerent.

"I wouldn't steal your War Cross,


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 that's a good fellow," said the man. "Let me see it." The Airedale advanced a step. The author patted his head, then slowly laid his hand upon the cross. The dog watched his every movement.

It was not a trinket, but a real Croix de Guerre. Many a brave man had given his life to be buried with that cross upon his breast.

"Guess I had better take it off and keep it for you," the man said. "You might lose it," and so he started to unclasp the chain. Quickly the dog's jaws closed over the wrist and his eyes glazed. A deep growl admonished the man.

"Oh, if you feel that way about it I will not touch it," he said, and he never tried to take the cross from Pierre again while he remained at Sunnyside. When the author finally heard from Madame how the Aire-


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 dale had gained it and the Colonel's dying request, he did not wish to.

"Will you walk out and have some breakfast?" inquired the master, leading the way to the dining-room. Pierre followed meekly, showing by his dainty manners that he was used to the very best society.

He sat on a rug by the man's chair watching him eat, and from his expression he seemed hungry.

So the man passed him a juicy bit of steak, not porterhouse, but the best cut from the round.

He sniffed at it daintily, then looked up with a sorrowful expression, as though the meat were a great disappointment to him.

"Eat it, you little beggar," said the author rather sharply, for he was not in


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 the habit of having dogs turn up their noses at good steak.

Pierre reached down and licked the meat with his dainty tongue, and then partly closed his lips upon it, but at once dropped the morsel.

Then he retreated a step or two and sat down upon the rug, thumping the floor with the stump tail. His expression was one of apology.

"I am very sorry," he seemed to be saying, "I would eat it to accommodate you if I could, but really it is quite out of the question."

"He must be sick," said the mistress tenderly.

"Sick nothing," snorted the man, "he is an aristocrat. He probably wants porterhouse. Well, he will have to wait a spell."


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 "Come here, you poor dog, and try this," said the mistress, at the same time spreading a bun generously with delicious new butter.

The Airedale went around with great alacrity, understanding the sympathetic tone if not the words.

"There, there, you poor hungry dog, eat that," said the kind lady.

She placed the delicious bun before his majesty.

As a special mark of condescension Pierre licked the butter from the bun but would not touch the bun itself.

"Well, well, he is some epicurean; won't touch my good buns."

"Perhaps he would like a plate of humming-birds' tongues, or a little ambrosia," the man suggested, ironically.

Pierre looked at him reproachfully,


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 understanding that he was scornful of his dainty manners.

"If you had been brought up as I was, you would understand," he seemed to be saying. "I really can't help it. I am so sorry to hurt your feelings when you are so kind."

The mistress next brought him a piece of cake. He ate off the frosting and wagged his stump for more.

"I guess not," the man said; "you can't let him lick all the frosting off the cake. He may be some gentleman, but we won't stand for that. I am not fussy, but I don't want to eat the cake after him."

Pierre looked at the author with an expression of real sorrow. If they could only reach an understanding!

"See how sleek his coat is," said the


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The slogan, "Save the Trade Unions," as it has often been applied heretofore, is erroneous. The trade unions cannot be saved on the old lines. In order to realise this goal, it will be necessary to effect a fundamental transformation in the trade unions by means of the factory councils, with the object of industrial organisation and the liquidation of reformism by means of revolutionary activity.

In view of these facts, the principal task of the Communists is to concentrate all their energy on the work in the factories and the factory councils with the object of establishing the factory councils as starting points and supports for the whole work of the Party among the masses, especially against the reformist trade union leaders.

The factory councils are also confronted with the important task of uniting the organised trade unions masses with the unorganised masses in their ever-increasing elementary struggles.

In this connection the factory councils must be organisationally allied with one another according to industrial groups on a local, district, and general scale, so as to form potential basis of the future organisation of production.

Hence it is necessary at the present time to combat the danger of placing the factory councils in one form or another under the jurisdiction of the reformist trade unions.

The decentralisation which is naturally and necessarily developing from the present situation (the unfavourable state of the market, the slump in production, the bankruptcy of the reformist trade unions, &c.), and the spontaneous outbreak of unofficial strikes (against the will of the trade union executives and without the financial support of the latter), places upon the Communists the duty of leading these strikes.

The Communists must combine every concrete Problem of the economic struggle and trade union tactics with the general historical tasks of the working class, and with the necessity of the fight for the dictatorship of the proletariat.

The Communists must actively participate in the organisation of the strike leadership and the committees of action, and ally them with the factory councils.

But in view of the fact that the factory councils must act as the basis for the general re-grouping of the forces of the working class in its struggle, the entire weight of this economic struggle must not be placed exclusively on the shoulders of the factory councils.


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 mistress, all sympathy and concern for the starving guest.

"It's probably raw eggs," the man said. "They always help a dog's coat, but only kings and millionaires can afford to feed them."

At the word "egg," the Airedale cocked his ears and looked up at the author sharply.

"Is it eggs?" inquired the man.

Pierre barked gladly.

"I do really believe he is asking for eggs," said the sympathetic lady.

"You might try him on one," suggested the man. "They are only eighty cents a dozen."

The mistress hurried into the pantry closely followed by her new friend, that seemed perfectly to understand being the subject of their conversation.


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 She brought out the egg, and he watched her while she broke it, fairly quivering with eagerness; and when she put it down before him in a decorated saucer he licked it up frantically.

"Eggs it is," cried the man. "We have opened our doors and our hearts to an aristocrat, and there is no knowing what the cost will be."

Three raw eggs Pierre ate for breakfast before he was satisfied.

It did not take the people of Sunnyside long to discover that they had been adopted by an epicurean of no uncertain taste. One after another they tried upon him the dishes they had usually fed their dogs; but everything that was not costly and most extraordinary for a dog was refused. Not rudely nor bluntly, but with such grace, and with such consideration


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 for their feelings that it was enough to make a dog laugh.

Often Pierre would take up a bit of something they had offered him daintily between his lips and stand holding it looking imploringly at them, as much as to say, "You see I would eat it if I possibly could, but really it is quite out of the question." Then he would finally drop the food, and go and lick the mistress's hands with his soft tongue by way of apology.

The only things they ever discovered that he would eat after much experimenting were raw eggs, cream, porterhouse steak, macaroons, nabiscos, lady-fingers, and the frosting from cake.

So it will be seen Pierre was a most perplexing boarder, and a costly one as well.

The author would have fits of sternness with him, saying that he must eat what


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 other dogs did or starve, and he would come to it if he went hungry long enough. Then they would skip a meal, but it was not for long, for the author would soon catch the mistress feeding Pierre eggs on the sly, and when he told her it was against the rules, she would reply that she could not endure seeing a dear dog like that waste away.

For the first day or two the manners of the Airedale were a pattern for all dogs.

He was gentle and quiet and very dainty in the house.

To be sure he always wanted the best chair, and twice when he slipped away quietly and they looked for him he was discovered in the guest-chamber on the best bed—a fact that made the mistress highly indignant, but her husband explained to her the dog had divined this was


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 the guest-chamber, and he probably considered himself their guest, as indeed he was, and they never worked harder to please a guest.

Pierre was very particular about being disturbed when in the master's easy-chair. The first time he tried to push him out of it the dog growled at him—not that throaty disagreeable growl which usually precedes a snap, but a deep-chested friendly growl, which the man interpreted as a remonstrance.

The first time Pierre did it the man took another chair, begging his pardon for having been so discourteous, but the second time the man said to him, "You are just a little bluffer, with your deep growl," and gave him a sharp slap and invited him to get down at once, which he did with a very sorry injured air, his whole mien saying.


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 "Well, look at that. Who ever heard of treating a gentleman so rudely?"

It was the second day of his sojourn at Sunnyside that the man discovered his true nature. The days of tramp life, and the hardships that he had endured had subdued him, and the quiet, demure terrier that they knew thus far was not the real Pierre.

It had always been the habit of the master's old collie, that he had lost a year or two before, to go with him for the mail; so when he started out one afternoon he whistled for the Airedale.

That whistle and the invitation to accompany the man set off a thousand steel springs in the dog, and loosened an energy of which his friends had not even dreamed. He came after the author like the wind, leaping and barking.


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 "Here, here, go quietly," he admonished. "We must be respectable citizens," but he might have as well spoken to the wind. He gestured, threatened, scolded, and coaxed, but all to no avail. The imp of mischief had been set loose in Pierre, and the man was perfectly helpless.

The first thing he discovered on this walk was that Pierre was not used to children, and every time he saw one he started for it frantically, barking, and making a great fuss. He evidently considered it some new kind of playfellow made for his special amusement.

Although he intended the children no harm, yet he went with such seeming ferocity towards them, that with one accord they took to their heels, yelling with fright, and this pleased him prodigiously.

Time and again angry mothers asked


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 the author if that was his dog, and he would reply meekly he was not really his, but one that was staying at Sunnyside. The master tried to excuse Pierre in each instance, pointing to his War Cross and saying he was a hero, but he met with little success.

In the course of a short walk he chased three groups of children, tipped over a perambulator, treed two cats, one of which he nearly got, and had a scrap with the butcher's boy, who threw stones at him from a safe distance, making him perfectly frantic with fury. The author whistled and shouted until he was out of breath. Finally he disowned Pierre altogether, and hurried home trying to throw him off his scent. When he entered the front door, the Airedale appeared from somewhere and slunk in at his heels.


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28 heard many a shield resounding from the hurtling and from the sharp swords as well, many of which were wielded there. The battle-bold Saxons did scathe enow, but when the men of Burgundy pressed to the fight, by them was really a wide wound carved. Then down across the saddles the blood was seen to flow. Thus they fought for honors, these knights both bold and good. Loud rang the sharp weapons in the heroes’ hands, as those of Netherland followed their lording through the sturdy host. Valiantly they forced their way in Siegfried’s wake, but not a knight from the Rhine was seen to follow. Through the shining helmets one could see flow the bloody stream, drawn forth by Siegfried’s hand, till at last he found Liudeger before his men-at-arms. Thrice had he pierced the host from end to end. Now was Hagen come, who helped him achieve in the battle all his mind. Before them many a good knight must needs die this day.

When the mighty Liudeger espied Siegfried and saw that he bore high in hand the good sword Balmung and did slay so many a man, then waxed the lording wroth and fierce enow. A mighty surging and a mighty clang of swords arose, as their comrades pressed against each other. The two champions tried their prowess all the more. The troops began to yield; fierce grew the hate. To the ruler of the Saxons the tale was told that his brother had been captured; great dole this gave him. Well he knew it was the son of Siegelind who had done the deed. Men blamed Sir Gernot, but later he learned the truth.

So mighty were the blows of Liudeger that Siegfried’s charger reeled beneath the saddle. When the


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 The man was completely worn out and somewhat angry.

"I never'll take that little imp to walk with me again," he said hotly. The mistress at once took the dog's part. He quickly saw how the land lay and went to her with an injured air.

"You should have controlled him with kindness," she said. "See how gentle he is. You probably spoke harshly to him, and ruffled him."

"He may go with you next time," her husband replied. "I will let you try kind persuasion on him."

So the next day he went to walk with his mistress. They came back in half an hour, and she was nearly in tears, and so tired out she had to lie down.

But you must not get a wrong impression of Pierre from these sorry experi-


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 ences, for there was not a mean thing about him. He was so full of dog spirits he did not know what to do with them.

The only way they could get along with him at all, was to punish him every day or two severely enough to keep his spirits down. He was one of those dogs that need affliction to keep them within bounds.

The children were such a source of delight to him that he would chase every child that went by the house. So the author finally had to tie him up, although it nearly broke his heart. The children avenged themselves when he was tied, by yelping at him, and this promptly made him furious.

The master forbade their barking at him, but they would do it on the sly, and he could not watch them all the time.


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 Pierre finally became so sensitive that if a boy pointed a finger at him, he would bristle up like a porcupine. One boy could even drive him into a fury by merely making up a face at him.

So the author finally tied him behind the house where he could not see them. Here he dug under a choice grape-vine, and tangled himself up a dozen times a day.

The man wore out more shoe-leather travelling into the back yard to untangle his rope than he did all the rest of the day, so he tied Pierre in the shed. But he was always into something.

One day he dug under the house and went on a voyage of discovery. He filled up the hole after him, and the master was obliged to take down a part of the wall to get him out.


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 He gnawed things, he tore up things, and he made his good friends more trouble than all the dogs they had ever possessed, and the number had been legion. But somehow they forgave him all.

Some days when he had been more full of mischief than usual, the mistress would go out at night to feed him raw eggs, and cover him up with a warm blanket, and he would be so affectionate and gentle that she would declare he had reformed, and we would see a better-behaved dog on the morrow. But on the morrow all his imps came back, with reinforcements.

Yet through all these tribulations with him, he was so affectionate, and so gentlemanly when he had a mind to be, that they had never loved a dog more.

The mistress and the master might have gone to premature graves, had not a


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 friend from Meadowdale called, and disclosed Pierre's identity.

She had seen the great actress in her private car, when she was playing in the city, and had there made the acquaintance of the Airedale.

"Why, what in the world!" she cried. "Where did you get Madame Bernier's dog?"

"He adopted us," the author replied, and explained briefly.

"He ran away when she was playing in Meadowdale," the lady continued. "Madame advertised for him and was nearly heart-broken, but they could not find him. Pierre, come here, you rascal," she concluded.

A more delighted dog than he was at the mention of his name could not be imagined. He fairly bounded into the lady's


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 lap, nearly upsetting her with his exuberance.

"He does seem to know his own name," the author said. "I shall have to write to Madame and tell her all about it." Although he had nearly been the death of them, a pang shot through the man's heart at the thought of losing him.

The next day he wrote the letter, and slipped it into the letter-box, wondering what strange thing it would bring about.

After the author had mailed his letter to Madame, Pierre began to mend his ways rapidly. Probably the continual dinning of manners and morals into him was having effect, for he certainly became quite a well-behaved dog, that could on occasions even accompany the author to walk without disgracing him.

Also his affection for his new friends


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 The factory councils must accuse the trade unions of being responsible for the increasing misery of the working class.

The Communists will decide upon the tactic and slogans in the trades unions solely on the basis of the general and concrete estimate of the tasks confronting the working class and the party, and of the strength of the various elements participating in the struggle.

(Signed)

The Party organisation must be adapted to the conditions and aims of its work. Under the reformist policy of the Social-Democratic parties, which endeavoured to exert an influence upon the bourgeois government by means of the ballot box, it was natural that attention should be chiefly directed to the organisation of voters. The organisation, therefore, was based upon electoral divisions and residential areas. The Communist Party inherited this form of organisation from the Social-Democratic parties, but it is entirely opposed not only to the final aims of the Communist Party, but also to its immediate tasks. The final aim of our Party is to overthrow the power of the bourgeoisie, seize power for the working class, and bring Communism into being. Its immediate tasks are to win the majority of the working class by active participation in the everyday struggles of the working masses, and to secure the leadership of these struggles. This can only be achieved by means of the closest contact between our Party organisations and the working masses in the factories.

It was from this point of view that the Third Congress of the Communist International decided that the basis of the Communist Party must be the factory nuclei. In the majority of the Sections of the Communist International this has not yet been carried into effect; and in many, the question of organising factory nuclei has not been even concretely formulated. The experience of the German Revolution (at the end of 1923) once more clearly demonstrated that without factory nuclei and the closest contact with the working masses, it is impossible to draw the latter into the struggle and to lead them, that it is impossible to gauge their moods accurately and thus take advantage of the most favourable moment for our action, and that it is useless to expect victory over the bourgeoisie.


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 seemed to increase with each passing day. The truth was, he was growing into their hearts and lives, and they were—growing into his.

I presume most of my readers have read Kipling's little poem about giving one's heart to a dog to tear. That is what a true dog-lover usually does. Not that the dog tears his heart intentionally, but there are always so many things that may happen to make your heart ache after you have given it fully and unreservedly to a dog.

At the very best, he will grow old and blind, and there will come that wretched day, when after sleepless nights you resort to the chloroform bottle. Then there are accidents and a dozen and one things that may happen to your pet, even if he does not live to a good old age.


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 Finally the letter that they had dreaded so long came. Full of foreboding, the master tore open the envelope and read as follows:


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 Here the author stopped in the reading of the letter to blow his nose, and Pierre, whom he had let smell the letter, licked his hands frantically, as though he sympathized, and would stand by him.

"Last June, when I returned to France," the letter continued, "I left Marie in America, to visit friends, and also to see if anything turned up concerning Pierre. She is to sail Saturday at three on the Princess Louise from New York. Can you meet her at the steamer, and bring dear Pierre with you? I will cable her, and she will be on the watch for you.

"I am glad he has not lost his War Cross. It was the gift of a brave Colonel who was dying on the battle-field. He said Pierre must always wear it and for me to have it buried with him.

"The enclosed check for a thousand francs is very small payment for all you have done for Pierre. You have, besides, my dear poet, my most abundant gratitude for all time.

"Thanking you again a thousand times,


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 both for myself and Pierre, I am your much-indebted friend.

The man gasped and rubbed his eyes, and then turned to the letter again, and read it over carefully to see if he had made any mistake. But there it was in black and white, as irrevocable as the laws of the Medes and Persians. He had got to give up his little dog friend. There was no other honorable course left to him.

That night the mistress tearfully tucked Pierre for the last time under his blanket in the kennel, and they held their last good-night confab.

Pierre was conscious, from the manner of his friends, of some impending change. He did not know just what it was, but he knew that they were depressed and so he shared their distress.


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 It was a very demure Airedale that the master led on the leash the following morning to the depot. While they stood on the platform waiting for the train, he crowded between the man's legs, and could not seem to get close enough to his adopted master.

They took their place in the smoking-car, as the conductor told them parlor-cars were not for dogs. What if he had seen the car in which Pierre had ridden so many thousand miles. But they did not care as long as they were together. A smoking-car was good enough for the man, if he had good company, and he did that morning.

Pierre insisted on sitting next to the window so that he could look outside and watch the landscape as they rushed along. It must have reminded him of old days,


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 the old days when he sat at the window of his mistress's car, and watched the great wide world slip by.

But the world could not hold him for long this morning, and he frequently turned to the master and nosed the morning paper from his hands, and invited him to cuddle him, and talk to him.

Then it was that the author told him the full contents of the letter. He looked very grave at its conclusion, taking his cue from the man.

Finally the long journey was over and they took a taxi at the Grand Central for the wharves. They had just time enough to catch the boat.

The author had no difficulty in finding Marie, and she recognized him by the dog on the leash.

The master followed her to the palatial


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 French liner, and left her after a few minutes on one of the upper decks, keeping a tight hold on the leash. Pierre looked very forlorn and anxious, but Marie assured the author that he would not get away again. She would see to that, as her own life would be the forfeit if he did.

The master had her cover the Airedale's head with a handkerchief while he slipped quickly away, without any special farewell. He had been saying good-bye all the way down to New York.

Five minutes later he stood on the wharf watching the tugs work the liner out of her slip. He could just distinguish Marie on the upper deck where he had left her with Pierre.

This was the last he ever saw of them.


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Marie was glad to see Pierre again, Pierre was also glad to see Marie, although she had once been his enemy. His state of mind was much that of a small boy who has run away with the circus.

The glitter and the glamour of the world had called to him and he had answered. But his adventure in the wide, wide world had been full of sorrows. His friends, especially the great lady who adored him, and even Marie, were all preferable to the wide world.

He had had his fill of adventure and henceforth, or for a while at least, he would be content with the lot of a home dog.


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 This was the way Pierre thought in his dim, dog way, when he thought at all; but he was so wide-awake and so filled with the passing show that external things claimed most of his attention.

Marie, on the other hand, was highly pleased with the turn of events. She was not to go home without Madame's dear dog. She would be restored to the great lady's favor, and that meant a great deal to her.

It was an honor to be the maid of the greatest actress in the world, and Marie appreciated the fact. So both she and Pierre were very happy upon that return voyage to dear old France. But France was still war-torn and grief-stricken, and Madame was still playing daily, and often twice a day, to gain gold for the land she loved.


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 Pierre's conduct on the boat was so much better than anything that Marie had ever known before that she was quite in love with him herself before the ship made Havre.

It was a proud moment for Marie when she walked into Madame's dressing-room with Pierre, who looked just as jaunty and cock-sure of himself as he had the morning he ran away, although the world had done much to subdue his spirits.

Madame fell upon him as though he had been a long-lost child and caught him up just as though he had not been forty pounds of bone and muscle, while Pierre showered her face with kisses and jumped about and barked so loudly that the manager came in to see what was the matter. The great actress was so overjoyed and taken up with her long-lost darling that


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 the manager finally had to remind her that her cue would soon be called.

So it was into the same old touch-and-go world that Pierre had returned. If the soldiers could fight by day and by night upon the reeking soil of France, Madame could also fight for her country upon the stage. So it was a tired, hard-worked woman who again took Pierre to her heart and talked to him in the small hours of the morning after the theatre lights had gone out and the last curtain had fallen.

But just a week to a day after Pierre set foot in France the colors again called him and Madame could not refuse her country.

General Gerundo, an old friend, was calling on her at the theatre. There was an hour before the curtain went up, and


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 they were chatting together over some wine and cakes.

Madame had just finished telling the general of Pierre, of his War Cross and his latest escapade in America, when Pierre himself trotted in from the stage where he had been romping with the stage hands.

The general looked at the Airedale admiringly as he came and stood upon his hind legs and laid his head in Madame's lap, ready for his usual complement of caresses.

"Yes," said the great man after a silence, during which he watched the actress curiously. "He is a fine dog. The handsomest Airedale I ever saw. But it is a pity that so good a soldier is not again fighting. We have great need of such dogs in the Argonne on the ammunition-carts. Much of the country is too rough


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 for machines or horses. I think he could again do valiant service for France."

At the words Madame uttered a half-suppressed cry, of which she was ashamed. But she was very tired and heartsick. The tragedy of the war was heavy upon her. The return of Pierre had given her a respite from this haunting specter of war. In his love and playfulness she had found surcease from her own heartache, and here the general was suggesting that she again give him up to his country.

She looked up at the gray—bearded little man with the blue uniform. The man who slept either in his automobile, or even on horseback, anywhere but in bed. The man who had given so much for France. She noted the tired look in his eyes and was ashamed of her own weakness.

"Forgive me, General," she said.


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 "You see I have not had Pierre for months and he is such a comfort to me. Your proposal took me unawares. I was off my guard. I am tired to-night, General."

"We are all tired," said the general, "but better days are ahead if we endure, and we must. But what do you say about the dog?"

Madame looked straight into the bright, dancing eyes of Pierre and gently caressed his soft ears. Life danced and sparkled in his eyes. It radiated from his splendid body. He tingled and glowed with it. He was sentient, vital, and there was no fear in his splendid eyes.

Should she again let him go into the inferno of war? She knew he was not afraid. She doubted very much if he would quail, even if he knew that death


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 awaited him out on the battle-fields of France. Should she let him go? But it was for France. They all must make sacrifices. Finally she looked up at the general and her eyes were filled with tears. "You may have him," she said; "we all follow the flag."

When the head dog-musher saw Pierre he shook his head.

"He is much too light," he said. "We want heavier dogs, dogs that can pull heavy loads."

The dog-musher was a tall, muscular young Scotchman, who had come over to France from Alaska to help in training the dogs which the French government had purchased for drawing the ammunition-carts in the rough country. The Scotchman had brought with him a hundred of the finest dogs that he could find in


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 Alaska, most of them winners in the great Alaskan sweepstake races, so he knew good dogs when he saw them.

Even though he had condemned Pierre as too light, still he kept on looking at him. In some strange way the Airedale fascinated the man. His eyes were so bright, his ears so erect, his expression so intelligent. The Scotchman was even obliged to admit to himself that he had never seen so much dog in so small compass.

"But I hate to let him go," he said at length, during which time he had been studying Pierre with his all-seeing gray eyes.

"We do need brains in several of our teams. I would like just such a dog if he was twenty pounds heavier."

"Why not let him lead and pull as much as he can?" inquired the lieutenant.


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 "As you say, Captain, we do need brains in our lead-dogs. We also need dogs that are not afraid, and this terrier looks as though he would not be afraid of the devil himself."

"That's so," said the captain. "We will keep him."

So Pierre again entered the service of the French government and was at once put to work. That very day the lieutenant taught him "Gee" and "Haw" and to "mush."

The lieutenant was used to clever dogs, but Pierre surprised him. "Why, this Airedale fairly takes the words out of your mouth. He will make a fine lead-dog," he reported to the captain.

Pierre thought it great fun to trot up and down helping pull the queer cart. To his eager mind and willing muscles it was


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 just another fine play, something that men wanted him to do. The men were also to his liking, for they were the soldier-men. Men that a dog could worship. Men like Jean and the Colonel. Men whose will was law. Men whose will gripped you like a great force that must be obeyed. This was the sort of life Pierre liked, for he was masterly himself. He could even give up his pampered taste and take the fare as he found it, as the soldiers did.

He had not troubled his good friends, the author and his wife in America, because he was really bad. He was just so full of energy that he had to work it off in some way or blow up. There was no such danger in this new life, for they worked him from dawn to dark.

Finally, after three or four weeks Pierre was perfected and put at the head of a


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Rh steed recovered, bold Siegfried took on a frightful usance in the fray. In this Hagen helped him well, likewise Gernot, Dankwart, and Folker, too. Through them lay many dead. Likewise Sindolt and Hunolt and Ortwin, the knight, laid many low in strife; side by side in the fray the noble princes stood. One saw above the helmets many a spear, thrown by hero’s hand, hurtling through the gleaming shields. Blood-red was colored many a lordly buckler; many a man in the fierce conflict was unhorsed. At each other ran Siegfried, the brave, and Liudeger; shafts were seen to fly and many a keen-edged spear. Then off flew the shield-plates, struck by Siegfried’s hand; the hero of Netherland thought to win the battle from the valiant Saxons, wondrous many of whom one saw. Ho! How many shining armor-rings the daring Dankwart broke!

Then Sir Liudegor espied a crown painted on the shield in Siegfried’s hand. Well he knew that it was Siegfried, the mighty man. To his friends the hero loudly called: “Desist ye from the strife, my men, here I have seen the son of Siegmund, Siegfried, the strong, and recognized him well. The foul fiend himself hath sent him hither to the Saxon land.” The banners bade he lower in the fight. Peace he craved, and this was later granted him, but he must needs go as hostage to Gunther’s land. This was wrung from him by valiant Siegfried’s hand. With one accord they then gave over the strife and laid aside the many riddled helmets and the broad, battered bucklers. Whatever of these was found, bore the hue of blood from the Burgundians’ hand. They captured whom they would, for this lay in their power. Gernot and


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 team of six dogs. It was a very proud morning for him when he was harnessed and put at the lead position. He was to go ahead. He was to lead off. All the rest would follow him. Yes, that was fine. The soldier-men depended on him. He was to work for them.

Well, he would work until he dropped and then he would get up and go on again. But it was a great responsibility. He had to listen very carefully and notice whether the man with the long whip said "Gee" or "Haw." If he made a mistake, it would take the whole team in the wrong way. Then he must obey "Mush," and if his teammates did not pull he would growl at them.

True, he was the smallest dog in the team. Any one of the tall, lean huskies behind him could have eaten him up. But


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(1) The Factory Nuclei form the Basis of the Party Organisation. All Communists working in a factory must be members of the nucleus in that factory.

Note.—Where there are only one or two Party members in a factory and therefore they cannot form a nucleus, they are to be attached to the nucleus of the nearest factory, which must conduct the work in all adjacent factories where there are no nuclei.

(2) Communists who do not work in factories, workshops, shops, &c. (housewives, domestic servants, house porters, &c.) form Residential Party Nuclei.

Note.—Members of factory nuclei who live in other sections are obliged to register with the committee of the section (part of the town) where they reside. The section committee assigns them to residential nuclei. Members of Party nuclei of other sections who are assigned by Section Committees to residential nuclei, vote in these nuclei on questions which they have voted on in the factory nuclei, (question of Party principle, election of Party delegates, &c.).

(3) Unemployed members remain attached to the nucleus of the factory where they were formerly employed. In the event of protracted unemployment, with the consent of the section committee, they may leave their nucleus and be transferred to the sub-section where they live, and be attached to another nucleus.

(4) In small industrial centres, towns and villages, where the workers reside in close proximity to their factories, or farms, uniform nuclei are formed as far as possible around the factory or farm.

(5) Factory nuclei and residential nuclei elect an executive committee consisting of three or, at most, five persons. The elections take place at the general meetings of the nuclei. The executive committee of the nucleus distributes the work amongst its members. Depending upon the size of the nucleus, the executive committee appoints comrades for the distribution of literature, the conduct of propaganda, a comrade for trade union work, one to conduct the work of the fractions in the factory committees, one for co-operation with the young communist nucleus, one to conduct the work among women, &c.

(6) Party members who are members of a factory nucleus pay their dues to that nucleus; Party members who are members of a residential nucleus pay their dues to the latter.

(7) In large towns where there are numerous factory and residential nuclei, they are united into sub-sections. The sub-sections are joined into sections. All the sections of a large town constitute the local organisation. The section committee fixes its own sub-sections. In doing so, the section committee should attempt as far as possible to form the sub-sections around large factories.


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 Pierre did not know this, so he was safe in his ignorance.

The cart was dragged for miles and miles on the broad, hard road.

Finally they came to some woods. Beyond the woods the sky was cloudy and the clouds were filled with bright lightning, which continually played against the dark background. It brought back strange memories to Pierre. All the other dogs thought it just a hard thunderstorm, but Pierre remembered that fearful day when he had seen just such a storm gather beyond the great river. He had seen such lightning and heard just such thunder on that day when he had gone to look for the Colonel amid the terrors of the mighty storm. He could even smell the same acidy fumes he had smelled that day. What a strange day it had been with the


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 men all sleeping on the ground in every thicket and by the roadside! Some of them had been having bad dreams, for they groaned and sighed, while the ground was covered with blood.

Yes, this thing that they were travelling towards with the heavy cart was just such another storm as that.

Occasionally as they advanced and the thunder grew heavier, Pierre would look back over his shoulder at the captain who was driving the team. Then the soldier would shout at him, "All right, little soldier, mush." Some of his teammates whimpered and wanted to go back but Pierre always kept his nose towards the mighty storm while the captain urged the fearful ones on with both whip and voice. But Pierre himself was not afraid. He was just bewildered.


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 He would mush, mush, and mush, if the captain said so until they were at the very heart of the storm and the mighty peals of thunder were rolling continually and the terrible bolts of lightning were ripping up the trees and the rocks all about them.

As they journeyed farther into the woods and farther towards the great storm, the going became more difficult. They floundered down into deep gulches where the pines and the poplars were green and cool. Sometimes there was a little brook at the bottom of the gulch and if there was time the captain would let the dogs stop to drink.

Then they would climb laboriously over a rough hill and here they were sometimes spied by the sharpshooters and they had to hurry, for the bullets would soon be spitting all about them. But this was the


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 general character of the country, deep gulch and then a hill. And as they journeyed towards the storm, they often came to trees that had their tops broken off and lying across the rough roadway, or perhaps a whole tree was in the way. Then the men would cut it away with their axes, or lift the cart over it after they had partly unloaded it. But the men made all possible haste. If they were delayed in this way, they fussed and fumed so that Pierre knew that some one wanted them to come quick. So as soon as they were free he would tug and strain at his harness and whine to the other dogs to come on, even before the man had given the word.

"Willing little chap," remarked the lieutenant to the captain. "We certainly made no mistake when we took him on. He is worth any two huskies we have got.


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 He's going to distinguish himself before we get out of this hell, or my name ain't McDougal."

"Perhaps he will," said the captain. "I only hope he won't extinguish himself. He is almost too willing. I never saw a dog before so utterly devoid of fear."

On the last hilltop before they reached the great storm, the enemy got Juneau Pete, the husky next to Pierre. He was shot through the lungs and blew blood from his nostrils in bright jets. The captain saw that he was done for and shot him with his revolver.

The men lost no time in closing up the gap in the team and rushing the cart into the next gulch, for the bullets were spitting all about them. Even in the gulch they were almost as much beleaguered, for the enemy began throwing shrapnel and shells


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 into the depression. They had noted that it was a cart carrying ammunition to a much-harassed portion of the army, so determined to cut it off if possible.

Shrapnel fell like hailstones in among the trees. Leaves and twigs came down in showers, and often a large limb was lopped off. But the worst execution came when a great shell landed fairly in the gulch sending treetops and turf and dust and stones in every direction. It fell so near that the two men were knocked down by the concussion. But the captain was soon on his feet, quieting the dogs.

He seemed to know that Pierre was the dominant spirit of the team, so he told him not to get scared and they would soon be out of danger.

Pierre listened very carefully, for he wanted to do just what the man wanted


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Rh


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 him to do, because he was the lead-dog. All the other dogs followed him.

Finally they untangled the cart and drew it out into more open country and then they came to their own men, who greeted them with three cheers. The ammunition they had brought would hold the important position another day, so they were very glad to see the two men and Pierre and his dog team.

They unloaded the cart at once. After supper when it was as dark as it would be that night they started back to headquarters for more ammunition. Going back they had only the darkness to contend with, but that was bad enough.

Sometimes they would lose the rough road in the deep gulches and flounder about for half an hour before they found it again. Or, perhaps a large tree would


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 be across the road; then they would lift the cart over it, and that also took time. Both men and dogs were glad when daylight came and they were well out of range of even the large guns.

But there was no rest for them, for they were no sooner out of range of the enemy than they came upon several truck-loads of ammunition which had been brought up during the night. So it was to be their task just to carry ammunition through the deep gulches and over the high hills where the bullets and the shrapnel whined and whistled with never an hour to stop and rest. The trucks could bring it to within range, but the dog teams must do the rest. The terrible, nerve-racking, heart-breaking work must be left to the dogs and the two men. But these were not all who were to carry ammunition through this inferno,


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 for several other dog teams soon came up, and presently they were going back and forth like faithful shuttles between the beleaguered army and its source of ammunition.

But the personnel of the teams was constantly changing. Hardly a trip was made but that some poor dog was left behind dead.

For if they were too badly wounded to stay in the team they were shot. This was the best way in such a dreadful place.

Nor were the dogs the only part of the outfit to suffer. The drivers were also often wounded or killed. If they were wounded, Pierre would see two men carrying them out through the dark tangle of the woods on a stretcher. Often Pierre was terribly thirsty and there was no water to be had. The little streams where


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 they had first slaked their thirst had become choked with mud and dirt. Rocks and trees were piled in their beds.

Often the poor dogs eagerly lapped water that was thick with mud, while their drivers patted out little places in the mud and let the water settle in it before they could drink. Even so, the water was often red with blood. As the days wore on, the heat became intense and this made the thirst doubly hard to bear. One of the huskies in Pierre's team went mad in the harness and snapped at the dogs nearest him. The captain sprang to the rescue of the rest of the team and shot the afflicted dog.

"I don't blame him, Captain," said the lieutenant. "I am almost ready to go mad myself."

The din of the battle was now continu-


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 ous. But the dogs had become used to it so they did not mind the noise. The stench of decaying bodies, of dead men and horses and dogs filled the air.

Sometimes they did not have time to bury the dead and often they could not find them in the tangle of trees and débris of rocks and sod, so it was altogether a hell on earth in which Pierre and his dog team labored.

But the going over the hills and through the deep gulches as time passed became more difficult, and they lost more dogs and men each day than they had the day before.

Finally, one terrible day when the heat had been even more unbearable than usual and they had been bombarded continually with shrapnel and shell so that they had barely reached the army, the enemy laid


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 down a continuous barrage between the army and its supply of ammunition.

"Looks to me as though we were prisoners," said the captain to his lieutenant.

"Yes," said the general, who happened to be standing near. "We shall all be prisoners unless we can get word back to headquarters, and they send up a relief column. We can't hold out another day. We must be relieved at once."

The captain looked at him sharply. He had not imagined that he had spoken so truly. But the general's face was very grave. "Is it so bad as that?" the captain asked.

"Yes," replied the general. "It is much worse than you can imagine. Why, in the woods yonder are men who are going delirious for want of water and food


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 and our ammunition will barely hold out to-morrow."

"Where are your carrier pigeons?"

"Most of them are dead. They were shot while flying back to headquarters. What we have left are too nearly dead of thirst to lift a wing. I tell you our plight is desperate. You know the trail back to headquarters better than any one else. You have been hauling ammunition over it for days. Can any human thing live long enough in that inferno to get a message back to headquarters?"

The captain looked back along the way that he and his dog team had traversed so many times in the past three weeks, but it looked like the very mouth of hell. The trees that had shielded and befriended them in the past were swaying and bending and breaking under the barrage. The


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 air was filled with flying débris. The hilltops he knew would be even harder to cross than these infernos of the woods. The chance of getting through looked hopeless.

"I am afraid it would be a sure-death journey, General," he said at last. "I wouldn't expect to last to get across the first gulch, General."

"But some one must go," cried the general excitedly. "The army is at stake."

The captain looked down at his dog team and sighed. There were but four in the team.

They had left three others dead in the last gulch. And it was now ten times as bad as it had been when they had come through half an hour before.

The three huskies lay as though dead, their heads between their paws, limp and


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 lifeless. The trip had taken the last particle of life and go out of them. But not so Pierre. All the dogs with whom he had drawn the first load of ammunition were dead, but Pierre was still in the lead position. Twice he had been grazed by bullets but they had done him no harm. He was still alert, eager, and full of vitality, and ready to do the bidding of his gods, the soldier-men.

As the captain looked down at him he grinned back and the man heard his stump of a tail thumping on the sod. Here was a little soldier who never would say die until the Boche got him for good.

At the sight of the dog, so alert, so eager, so splendid in his courage and endurance, a lump filled the captain's throat. He was just a dog, but he was great. He was every inch a soldier.


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 Then a bright thought flashed through the mind of the man. They could send Pierre. He had gone over the trail every day for the past three weeks. He knew he could make him understand. He was such an intelligent little chap. He would not be afraid. A man would be afraid and with reason, but not Pierre. The captain read that in his fearless, eager eyes, which looked up in his face so brightly. They were so full of life, of the joy of living. Should he recommend sending him? It was a sure-death journey. He had just told the general so himself, but some one must go and Pierre was willing. The captain read that in his face. That hairy, alert, intelligent face.

So the captain turned to the commanding officer. "Get your message ready, General, I have a messenger. He will


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 take it through if any one can. He is the one for a tight place."

"Who is he?" asked the general in surprise. For it astonished him to have a messenger appear so suddenly from nowhere to take a message at such risk.

For answer the captain stooped down and patted Pierre's head. But he could not speak, for a great lump was in his throat. Tears were coursing down his rough, sun-tanned, powder-stained face. Tears of which he was not ashamed.

He and Pierre were all there was left of the original outfit, and he had come to love the dog as his brother. The lieutenant had "gone west" the day before.

"Who is it?" inquired the general again, thinking the captain had not heard him.

"It's this dog," replied the captain be-


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 tween gulps. "He would go into the mouth of a cannon if I told him to, even though he knew he would be blown to pieces. Get your message ready, General."

The general took a note-book from his pocket and began writing while the captain unbuckled the harness and sat down upon the ground and put his arms about the dog's neck and talked to him in a low voice.

"You've got to go back, little soldier." He put his hand on the dog's collar and pointed back along the trail they had come.

"Mush, mush. You have got to mush."

Pierre looked up into the captain's face and whined eagerly and tugged at his collar.

"It's a terrible trip. You must go alone. I can't go with you. You must


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30 Hagen, the full bold warriors, bade bear away the wounded; five hundred stately men they led forth captive to the Rhine. The worsted knights rode back to Denmark, nor had the Saxons fought so well that one could give them aught of praise, and this the heroes rued full sore. The fallen, too, were greatly mourned by friends.

Then they bade place the weapons on sumpters for the Rhine. Siegfried, the warrior, and his heroes had wrought full well, as Gunther’s men must needs confess. Sir Gernot now sent messengers homeward to Worms in his native land, and bade tell his kin what great success had happed to him and to his men, and how these daring knights had striven well for honor. The squirelings ran and told the tale. Then those who afore had sorrowed, were blithe for joy at the pleasing tidings that were come. Much questioning was heard from noble dames, how it had fared with the liegemen of the mighty king. One of the messengers they bade go to Kriemhild; this happed full secretly (openly she durst not), for she, too, had amongst them her own true love. When she saw the messenger coming to her bower, fair Kriemhild spake in kindly wise: “Now tell me glad news, I pray. And thou dost so without deceit, I will give thee of my gold and will ever be thy friend. How fared forth from the battle my brother Gernot and others of my kin? Are many of them dead perchance? Or who wrought there the best? This thou must tell me.”

Quickly then the envoy spake: “Ne’er a coward did we have, but, to tell the truth, O noble queen, none rode so well to the strife and fray, as did the


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 mush." Again the captain pointed along the woodland trail, the trail that the dog knew so well.

Once more Pierre whined in eagerness and tugged at his collar.

"All right," said the captain. "I knew you would understand."

Presently the message was ready and the captain placed it in an oilskin tube made for the purpose and concealed it under the dog's collar. He smoothed it out carefully and then let out the collar one hole. He would need all the breath that nature could give him on this desperate journey and the captain did not want him choked by a tight collar.

Then the soldier very tenderly kissed the dog on the top of his head while Pierre showered the man's face with dog kisses.

"I am hating to send you, little soldier,"


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 he said thickly, "but the general says, 'Go,' and we all mush when he says the word. I will be praying for you all the way. I guess He looks out for dogs as well as men when they are doing their duty."

Then he turned Pierre's head towards the woods and pointed along the devastated wagon trail and cried, "Mush!" Thus far he had spoken quietly to the dog, but this command cut the air like the crack of a rifle. At the familiar word Pierre started as though he had been struck by a whip, and tugged at his collar and whined.

Then the captain cried, "Mush!" again in that peremptory voice, which to the willing dog was like "Charge" to the willing soldier.

As the man's hand let go the dog's col-


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 lar, the Airedale galloped briskly across the open field towards the woods.

But almost immediately the sharpshooters in the tall trees to the east and the west saw him and divined that he was going back for help and the bullets began spitting all about him until the spurts of sand looked like rain falling upon the surface of a placid lake. Then they opened up with two rapid-fire guns and the captain groaned aloud. "The poor little chap, the poor little chap, they will get him before he even reaches the woods."

But worse things were still to come, for from away back in the woods somewhere a great shell mounted high in air, making a beautiful curve, and fell in the open field within fifty feet of Pierre.

The dog stopped and looked at it uncertain, and then back at the captain. He


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 was not afraid, but he was bewildered, and he looked back for further orders.

The captain pointed towards the woods, and cried at the top of his voice:

"Mush, Pierre, mush!" And without the slightest hesitation the dog turned his head towards the gulch and galloped forward.

But he had barely gone fifty feet when there was a puff of smoke from the shell and then a great cloud of dust and sod which lifted Pierre on its outer edge and sent him rolling over and over down the slope towards the gulch.

The captain shaded his eyes to discover if he was killed, but after a few seconds, to his great joy, he saw the dog get slowly up and shake himself, and with one look backwards towards his friends trot away into the thicket.


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 Then the iron-nerved soldier sat down on the grass and, clasping his hands over his knees, sat for a long time rocking back and forth and praying under his breath.

"God, take care of the little feller," he implored. "He's only a dog, but he's got a heart of gold and he's a soldier every inch of him. God, cover him with your feathers, just as it says in the Good Book. He is doin' it for us all. He's done what few men in this division would care to do. God, take care of him. Keep the great shells off him. Don't let him be afraid. I know he won't be, but he's just a dog, God; and it's hell out there in those woods.

"God, show him the way. It's dark and the noise is terrible. God, keep the bullets away from him. He trusts me and I sent him, and if he got killed I'd feel I killed him, so keep him all the way, God."


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 But the captain was not the only man in the beleaguered division who was praying for Pierre that night. The general had told his orderlies of the messenger and how bravely he had crossed the open grounds to the woods, and the news had spread like wild fire. So hundreds of thirst-crazed men were saying over and over, "O God, keep the poor dog safe to-night. Help him to get through."

Four hours after the captain had seen Pierre disappear in the woods at the edge of the gulch his straining eyes beheld a bright streak on the southern horizon. It was a red rocket, and in another second it was followed by a blue one and then a green light flared in the heavens.

"God be praised!" cried the captain, jumping to his feet and running about wildly. "The signal, the signal! The


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 little soldier has made it. The division is safe!"

But the captain's were not the only eyes which had observed the signal lights, for hundreds of straining eyes in the division saw the lights and new hope sprang up in breasts where blank despair had reigned supreme a moment before.

And this was what had caused the bright lights on the southern horizon which had put new hope into the lives of the men.

The sentry at headquarters had been pacing up and down as usual before the general's tent when he noticed a dog coming towards him. He was acting rather strangely, for he bumped against tents and wagons and anything that happened to be in his way. Yet he continued to advance, seeming to go by scent. When he came close to him, he saw that it was Pierre,


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 Captain McClure's lead-dog that had done such fine work on the ammunition-cart.

The Airedale was a prime favorite with the men, and known to many of the soldiers, who recognized a good soldier when they saw one.

So the sentry whistled to the dog and called him by name.

At the familiar sound, the dog seemed to be transformed from a dejected, forlorn-looking canine to a joyous, confident dog, although he continued to grope his way towards the sentry.

"Why, good heavens, little chap. What is the matter?" inquired the soldier, as Pierre approached him and laid his face against the man's leg.

Then the man noted for the first time that the dog was going on three legs and, lifting up his nose, he discovered that his


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 eyes were closed and his face was black with powder smoke.

"Why, Pierre! What is it? Where have you been?"

The dog whimpered and crowded against the man's legs as though he would get closer to him. Then the sentry chanced to run his hand under the dog's collar and discovered the tube, and the dog's plight and his eagerness were made plain to him. In another minute he was running towards the general's tent, with Pierre in his arms.

Five minutes later the general was poring over the message from the beleaguered division and this was what he read:

Even in this great exigency, the general ordered Pierre turned over to the best sur-


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 geon in the camp for immediate attention. He had a broken fore-leg, and was temporarily blinded. But, due to his efforts for his friends, in another hour ten thousand men were in motion, going to rescue the lost division.


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was a very great relief to Pierre's friends, and they were legion after his great exploit, when the surgeon pronounced his blindness only temporary. His broken leg would take weeks to mend, but he would see as well as ever in a few days. So there was great rejoicing in the sector and through the ranks of the lost division, which was not to be lost after all, to know that their brave little dog hero would soon be as fit as ever.

The surgeon each day washed Pierre's eyelids, and sometimes even turned them wrong side out, that he might better cleanse them and so help on their healing.


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 For a week Pierre had to wear a muzzle and this he at first thought a disgrace. But the surgeon was a lover of dogs, and he finally explained to the terrier that the muzzle was to keep him from tearing off his splint on the broken leg.

Finally the surgeon so covered the splint with plaster of paris that it could not be pulled away and Pierre was relieved of the hateful muzzle.

As the days passed he and the surgeon became the best of friends. Each morning when the doctor made his round of the hospital Pierre would trot behind him and stop at each bedside while the doctor attended to the patient.

There was no soldier in the hospital who was not proud to shake the paw of their comrade. Few of them had done as much for France.


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 So it happened that Pierre's name was upon all lips in that sector of the army.

He also occupied much space in the French newspapers for several days. For an enterprising correspondent who was with the division heard the story and wrote it out in full. He also secured a photo of the Airedale, showing his bandaged paw and partly closed eyes, and his newspaper used the story as one of its important features the following morning. Other papers were quick to copy so good a story as this was.

So it happened that the great actress one morning over her coffee was amazed to see Pierre's quizzical face grinning at her from the front page of her morning paper. With tears in her eyes and a great lump in her throat she read the account of her dear dog's bravery.


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 When she had finished reading it to herself, she summoned all her servants and read the story to them.

Yet she was not content with the newspaper account of Pierre's rapid recovery, but telegraphed the surgeon in charge for all particulars. She was rather disappointed to receive a brief telegram which read, "You shall have all particulars to-morrow. In the meantime, patience."

Pierre was rather surprised on the following morning when he was not allowed to follow the surgeon over the hospital, but instead was taken into the office where there was much excitement. The actress's old friend General Gerundo was there, and several of his staff were with him.

He shook Pierre's well paw most cordially and the terrier wagged his appreciation. Then he was placed on the table in


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 the centre of the group and all gathered around and shook his paw just as though he had been the President of France. Finally the general stood before Pierre and read from a paper which he held in his hand.

Pierre knew the soldier was talking to him, or that the reading had something to do about him, but of course he did not know just what. So he tried to look very knowing and listened just as intently as he used to for "Gee" and "Haw." When the soldier had finished reading, all the men clapped their hands and Pierre felt that something was expected of him, so he barked loudly twice and wagged his tail a great deal. All of which seemed to please the men immensely.

When Pierre was finally lifted down from the table he was much relieved, for


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 this was really more embarrassing than a battle.

Then an orderly came in and the men took leave of Pierre with much ceremony and the orderly lifted him in his arms and carried him out to a waiting automobile.

"Our little soldier is going home to the great actress," explained the general to his staff. "The actress is ill. She has been playing daily ever since the war began. She is another good soldier. She loves the dog just as though he were a child, and we are sending him home to cure her. She has already made sacrifices enough for France and so has Pierre. It will be a happy evening at the château on the Loire to-night or I don't know Madame.

"I only hope Pierre won't jump out of the car and break his other legs before they arrive. He is such a bundle of energy."


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 Pierre had always been fond of automobiling, especially when he could sit upon the front seat and watch the passing show through the window. As soon as he was lifted into the machine he indicated his preference by taking the seat next the window and sitting perfectly erect just like a drum-major. Very little that was worth while escaped his sharp eyes. He was interested to see all the other dogs by the roadway, and especially those who were riding in machines. Occasionally he would look up at the orderly to see if he noticed the other dog, or the cat which really ought to be chased, only they were in such a hurry. They reached Paris about noon and after stopping for dinner were off again.

No one had told Pierre he was going home, or that he was soon to see his mis-


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 tress. Yet he knew it just as well as though they had told him. He knew the direction in which they were travelling and perhaps his loving dog heart was singing home, or more likely it was just his dog instinct, which often puts man's knowledge to shame.

In the meantime the great actress was resting in her wonderful boudoir with beauty and luxury all around her. Yet she was not happy. She had temporarily broken down and could no longer do her part for France. She made no allowances for herself. She did not say that she was nearly seventy, and should be resting by rights. For her heart and soul were made of stern stuff, and she felt the call of duty just as strongly as she ever had.

She was really lonely and wanted somebody to love. Something or somebody