To be called a baby, a great girl like herself, so grown up as to have her theme read before a listening public, was too much for Elizabeth and she came to the conclusion that she was rather foolish and that there would never be the slightest need for a face-painted umbrella. So she walked away and gave up the idea.
It all came back to her that very evening, however, for when she came home from school her mother called her. “Elizabeth, I wonder if you couldn’t take some milk down to Mrs. Traill’s. Her baby is not well and their cow has gone dry, so I promised her I would let her have some.”
“Can’t Bert take it?” said Elizabeth, having other matters in mind.
“He is not here; your father sent him on an errand as soon as he came in from school. It won’t take you long and it isn’t dark yet. After this Mrs. Traill will arrange to send for it, but she cannot today. You would do that much for a little sick baby, wouldn’t you?”
This reproof appealed to Elizabeth at once, so without saying another word she picked up the tin can her mother had set down for her and started off. The way to Mrs. Traill’s was down a long hill at the foot of which was a little bridge. Just beyond this was Mrs. Traill’s small house. She was a poor woman with two or three small children. She had lately become a widow and was struggling hard to make both ends meet. Mrs. Hollins often employed her and showed her many neighborly kindnesses.
Elizabeth did not mind the walk down hill, and soon reached the house, giving her mother’s message and taking pains to inquire after the baby. Receiving the can back again after it was emptied, the little girl started home, determining to stop just beyond the bridge to gather some chestnuts which she had seen on the ground under a big tree. She had passed the bridge and was just about to creep under the bars which led into the field when she saw something which at first she mistook for a large dog. She was not usually afraid of dogs but this had an unfamiliar look so she backed away to give it a second scrutiny. The creature advanced. Elizabeth’s eyes grew bigger and bigger, then, shrieking, she started up the hill, the animal, inside the fence, loping along keeping pace with her. The hill was long and steep, but the child flew along panting, screaming, once in awhile casting fearful looks at the beast which did not attempt to leap the stone wall between them. All sorts of thoughts flashed through Elizabeth’s mind. She wished for the umbrella of her fancy; she wished that Bert was there with his gun; she wondered if she could scare off the creature by a fixed gaze. This last took more courage than she possessed, but she decided that she must try to drive it off in some way as her breath was giving out and she had still some distance to go before the top of the hill and the turn in the road should be reached. What could she do? Pausing a second she hurled the empty can at her enemy and, gathering energy for a final spurt, she fled on.
Before this her cries had reached the ears of the blacksmith whose shop was the first building at the top of the hill. It was to him that Bert had been sent on an errand, and he, too, heard the shrieks, but had no idea it was his sister who was in trouble.
“Hallo, what’s the matter?” cried Jim Powers, the blacksmith. “Why, Bert, it’s your sister,” he exclaimed, and in another moment had raced to meet the little girl, Bert not far behind him.
“Here, here, what’s the trouble, sissy?” said Jim, kneeling down and putting his arm around the frightened child. “There, don’t cry, tell us all about it. Anybody hurt? What’s wrong?”
Having reached safety Elizabeth had only sobs for reply, but presently gathered voice to say, “It’s there! It’s there! A great big terrible animal.”