A stile had to be climbed, and Mittie found herself in a large field, covered with a succession of long rounded ridges of grass, like petrified earthwaves. Near the encircling hedge grew in one spot a good many scattered small trees, and about half-way between this spot and the centre was a very fine young Wellingtonia, surrounded by a brick wall. A fence had formerly enclosed the Wellingtonia, but the fence having been repeatedly broken down, a wall had been substituted by the owner, who was very proud of his American specimen.
Mittie stole along by the hedge, breaking off here and there a tinted twig which caught her fancy, till she had quite a bouquet of variegated colours. Then she resolved to turn home, but she thought she would take one look in passing at certain small bushes growing just inside the wall which protected the Wellingtonia. So the little feet set off thither at a light run.
Suddenly some sound, or perhaps an instinctive sense of danger, made Mittie turn her head and look back.
To her horror she was being chased. A large bull with lowered horns was rushing at full gallop straight towards her.
Mittie had not known before that any creature beside herself was in the field. Had she seen the animal she would have retreated at once, for years of town-life had made her timid in this respect. Probably he had been browsing behind a group of trees at a short distance till attracted by her running.
One faint shriek burst from the child's lips, but she did not pause. At her utmost speed she fled wildly over the grass towards the Wellingtonia. Happily, she was a fleet runner, as well as a good climber. Many a wall and small tree had Mittie learnt to scale since Westford had been her home. Whether the bull really meant to hurt her, or was merely trying conclusions as to speed, might be questioned, but Mittie had no doubt whatever of his murderous intentions.
Not a dozen clear yards lay between pursuer and pursued when Mittie gained the enclosing wall, but that was enough. She knew of the one rugged and broken corner where she could ascend, and in another instant she had gained the summit, safe, but gasping for breath, blanched with terror, her poor little heart beating so madly that she could scarcely see what lay before her eyes. She dared not drop down within the wall, since it might not be possible to get up again on the other side. There was nothing for it but to sit on the top, which happily offered a fairly broad and secure surface, and to watch with fascinated eyes her terrible foe.
One thing became at once apparent, that the bull had no notion of climbing a wall. Mittie had had her doubts on this head, and was consoled. Finding his prey out of reach, he stopped running, and seemed disposed to take the matter coolly; but he showed no intention of taking himself away. He browsed about carelessly here and there, always within twenty or thirty yards of the enclosure. It would have made little difference if he had gone to the utmost verge of the field. Mittie felt that she could never venture to descend alone, to cross the wide space between the wall and the stile, while the enemy was anywhere within reach. She was on a fortress, practically invested, hopelessly cut off from the rest of the world.
For a while Mittie bore up pluckily. She was accustomed of late to rove about much alone, and to depend upon herself, and she felt no doubt that somebody would soon come to the rescue. Only it did seem very hard not to be at home to welcome her mother, and tears rose with the thought.
The wall seat, though tolerably safe, since Mittie was not given to giddiness, could not be called comfortable. Mittie debated several times whether she might not venture to descend inside. But it would not do. She would be out of sight there, and getting up again might prove impossible, so smooth was the inner surface of the wall.