At the outcry from beyond the window of the little sitting-room, the dog, Christmas, became fairly frantic. Seizing him by the collar, however, Frank gave him a stern word. Wont to obey, the animal retreated to one side of the room, but still growling, and his fur bristling.
Frank instantly caught up the lamp from the table and carried it to the window. His mother peered out in a startled way at the scene now illuminated without.
“Why, it is Mr. Dorsett!” she exclaimed.
“As I expected,” said Frank, quietly.
“Frank,” murmured his mother, anxiously, “what have you been doing?”
“Preparing for eavesdroppers—and sneaks. Caught one first set of the trap, it seems,” responded Frank in clear, loud tones.
The captured lurker was indeed Dorsett. He was panting and infuriated. One foot was held imprisoned in a wooden spring clamp chained to a log in a hole in the ground. This aperture had been covered with light pieces of sod which Dorsett was pushing aside with his cane, while he continued to groan with pain.
The lamplight enabled him to discern more clearly the trap that had caught him. He managed to pull one side of the contrivance loose and got his foot free.
Wincing with pain and limping, he came closer to the window, boiling with rage.
“So you did it, and boast of it, do you?” he howled at Frank.