NANCY AND THE DOG.
CHILDREN were bundled promiscuously within cottage doors, and mothers followed them. Handcock stood up at last. He seemed an easy-going sort of individual—indolent perhaps, and not readily startled or flurried by passing events.
"O Nannie!" Susan had said faintly, at the first instant. Then she sent Susie indoors, and stood close to it herself, waiting.
The crowd did not come that way, neither did the dog. People began presently to breathe more freely, and Handcock returned to say, "There's no fear. Shouldn't wonder if it's all a scare about nothing!" But he had not gone farther than the end of the street to inquire.
Suddenly Richard Dunn hurried up, Dick trotting by his side.
"Nannie not here?" Dunn said breathlessly.
"No, she hasn't come. O Richard!"
"It's a scare about the mad dog, I suppose?" said Handcock.
"A scare! No. It's true!" said Dunn hoarsely. "And Nannie not here!"
"Tell me quick,—haven't you seen her?" asked Susan, holding on to his arm, for he seemed about to start off without another word.