The dog drew near, came close, and snapped at the man in his path.
With one sharp swerve, Mr. Wilmot avoided the bite. The next instant the dog was in his grasp, lifted off the ground, and held out at arm's length. It was a desperate feat. No man less powerfully made could have done the same. One hand gripped firmly the back of the dog's neck, the other held its back, not far from the tail.
A fearful struggle followed, but Mr. Wilmot did not yield. "Quick!" was the one word he uttered; and a butcher's man, rushing up with a sharp knife, put the creature to an instant death.
"Thanks," Mr. Wilmot said, as he dropped the dead body.
"Sir, I don't believe there's another man in the village would have dared do that!" the butcher's man exclaimed.
"I am bodily strong," said Mr. Wilmot. "Have the creature taken away at once, and buried deep. The less handling of it the better. Anybody been bitten?"
The men who had gathered round hoped not. They had done their best to warn everybody, and to drive it out of the more frequented streets. But one young girl had had a narrow escape.
"Better see to those children; they are frightened," said Mr. Wilmot.
He did not go to them himself, as he would usually have done. One or two thought the severe struggle and exertion had been somewhat too much for "the Parson." He looked pale, as he nodded farewell, and went indoors.
Annie came to meet him. "Father, was anything the matter?"