CHAPTER XI
JIM BARLOW
Dorothy reread the note. Then she took off the scrawl attached to it and tore it into bits, remarking to the mastiff, or whoever might hear:
"Well, I don't want any milk. I shall never like it again. I believe that dreadful man put something in it last night—was it only last night?—that made me go to sleep and not know a thing was happening after I got into the carriage till I woke up here. Milk! Ugh!"
With a shudder of repulsion she looked over her shoulder just as a sibilant, warning "S-Ssh!" came from the room behind. Then she stood up and screamed as the mastiff, likewise rising, grasped her skirt in his teeth.
"Hush! you better not let her hear you!" was the second, whispered warning, and though she peered into the kitchen she could see nobody, till, after a moment, she discovered a pair of dirty bare feet protruding from under the bed that stood in one corner.
Dorothy was afraid of the dog that held her, but she was not usually afraid of human beings; so she called quite loudly:
"You long white boy, come out from that place. I want to talk to you!"
The dog loosened its grip long enough to growl, then took a fresh hold, as the lad cautiously drew himself into full sight and noiselessly stood up. But he laid one grimy hand on his lips, again commanding silence, and snatching a big basket from the floor ran out of a rear door.
The girl tried to follow. Of the two human beings she had seen in this isolated cottage the long boy seemed the gentler, and she was determined to make him, or somebody, tell her where she was. The mastiff still held her prisoner and she suspected he was acting upon orders. Her temper rose and with it her courage. It was absurd that she could not do as she pleased in a little bit of a country cottage like this, where there were no locks nor bolts to hinder! So for the third time she moved, and for the third time the dog's great teeth set themselves more firmly on her light clothing. Clenching her small hands in her impotent wrath, she began to screech and yell, at the top of her voice, incessantly, deafeningly, defiantly. Pausing only long enough to renew her breath, and wondering if that old woman she could see yonder, picking berries from a bed, could endure the noise as long as she could endure to make it.