Donald looked at her with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, and laughed.
"It would be no laughing matter if we encountered the bull and he turned upon us," Josephine said; "May is right, let us hurry home."
"Listen!" exclaimed May. "Oh, he's coming! Run! Oh, run!"
From a lane at no great distance, which led into the high road, came the sounds of men's voices shouting and a dog barking. The little girls began to run, and Donald followed them—he could not run on account of his lame knee, but he might have quickened his footsteps if he had liked.
"You little cowards!" he shouted, "I'm not going to hurry! I'm not afraid of—"
He broke off abruptly. He had been walking close to the hedge, and had caught his foot in a trailing bramble. The next instant he measured his length on the ground.
Meanwhile the little girls had reached a five-barred gate. May climbed it nimbly, and dropped into the field on the other side. Josephine was about to follow her example when she glanced back to look for Donald, and saw, to her dismay—for the sounds which had alarmed her and May were drawing nearer—what had happened.
"Quick! quick!" cried May. "Where's Donald?"
"He's fallen, but he's getting up," Josephine answered. "Oh, May, the bull's coming! I see it! And a sheep-dog after it! Run, Donald, run!"
But Donald, pale to the lips, had sunk down on the ground again. Josephine darted back the road and seized him by the arm.