Farmer Bluff's dog Blazer

by Florence E. Burch

"To be sure you can," answered his mother, thoroughly pleased with his cheerful industry. And forthwith going to the dresser, she cut and spread a thick slice. "Have what you want afore you go," said she, reckoning to get things cleared up and out of her way, ready for her ironing by and by.

And Bill stood munching hungrily, as he waited to start, turning afresh, and congratulating himself that now, come what might, his breakfast was secure.

It was about half-past seven when he set out for Mrs. Wayling's with the bundle on his head. It was a good distance. Mrs. Wayling was the schoolmaster's wife, and lived up by the church. Bill usually took a barrow; but this time he had his own reasons for wishing to be entirely unencumbered so soon as ever he should have delivered his burden. A barrow would not be handy at stiles, and he intended coming back by the river and the fields, so as to avoid the chance of meeting his father.

Bill was warm by the time he arrived at the schoolhouse. He had got over the ground pretty quickly, considering the weight of his burden, and the church clock still wanted two minutes of the quarter. If only they did not keep him waiting, he would be back at the farm at the very right moment.

As luck would have it, the servant returned almost immediately, to say that her mistress had no change, and would send the money round with the next bundle of linen. And Bill, only too glad to be free, money or no money, nodded and ran off towards the river as fast as his legs would carry him.

It was a good deal farther that way, but Bill had now nothing but himself to carry. In a very short time, he had reached the riverbank, and was hurrying along the towing-path. The geese were already in the field. He saw them marching towards the river in their pompous way, with the old white gander at their head. There would be nothing to fear from them; and, puffing and panting with hurry and excitement, Bill scudded along until he reached the back of the orchard, when he slackened pace and went tiptoe, stealing along behind the hedge towards the hole through which he intended to creep.

It was not much of a gap, for it had grown-up a bit since last Bill had squeezed through—which was when the apples were ripe. But gap or no gap wasn't going to stand in his way just then. Bill got down into the ditch, to wait until he should hear eight strike and the men tramp past to breakfast. He had not long been there when the clock sounded out the hour.

Bill took his hands out of his pockets, and laid hold of a stoutish stem of whitethorn on either side, breaking or bending back the smaller twigs, so as to clear his passage. Then he waited again. He could plainly hear somebody moving about inside the hedge, and he began to be terribly afraid that one of the men had made up his mind to spare himself the trouble of going home to breakfast.

Bill let go the whitethorn stems in dismay.

"There's a go!" exclaimed he to himself. It seemed such a pity, too, when everything was so splendidly arranged. But just then, he heard the footsteps moving towards the door of the shed.