“Wow—wow—wuff,” said Dick, making at the intruder open-mouthed, but the new-comer was too quick for the dog, for he darted back, and shut the gate in his face.
Back darted Dick, and out at the door at the other end, and then round by the shrubbery.
Harry and Philip both tried to open the gate, but the new-comer—whom they had recognised as Fred’s late adversary, Bill Jenkins, was holding on tightly, so that they could not move it in the least. But in the course of a few seconds there was the sound of rushing feet through the shrubbery; a loud yell; and then the gate was released, and upon being opened there stood, or rather reeled about, Bill Jenkins, and Dick, who owed him a grudge for the stone-throwing, tight hold of him by the trousers and shaking away at them as hard as he possibly could; and all the while snarling and growling as viciously as a dog could snarl and growl.
“Help! help!” roared Bill Jenkins.
“Worry—worry—worry,” went Dick.
“Help! help! murder!” roared Bill Jenkins again; and then, tripping over a stone, he fell sprawling on the gravel-walk, when Dick, with all the importance of a conqueror, left his hold of the trousers and leaped upon the fallen enemy’s breast, where he stood with his red tongue lolling out, and wagging his tail.
“Oh, please call him off; oh, do please,” said Bill Jenkins; “I’ll ne’er throw stones at him again. Oh, please call him off.”
Harry laid hold of Dick’s tail, and Philip took him by the ears, and they carried him off to the yard and chained him up again, when he set to barking as loudly as he could, until his enemy had left the premises, which he did directly, leaving the letter, which he had brought for Mr Inglis, in the charge of Fred, and then slipping off, after faring no worse than being in a most horrible fright, for Dick’s teeth went no farther than through his trousers. As to Harry and Philip, they enjoyed the fun, as they called it, immensely, which can hardly be wondered at when the provocation they had received is taken into consideration; but I must do them the credit of saying that they would not have set the dog at poor Bill, and that they could not have stopped him if they had tried ever so hard, which, in the hurry-skurry of the affair, they had no chance of attempting. Dick had a good memory for those who were kind, and those who behaved ill to him, as Bill Jenkins found to his cost; and never afterwards could he be persuaded to take a message to Mr Inglis’s house, so wholesome was the dread with which the dog had inspired him.
This episode supplied the boys with what they had wanted—something to take up their attention till dinner-time, which Harry, by making a charge into the kitchen, found to be in the process of what Mrs Cook termed “dishing up;” so they entered the house, where they found Papa just going to relieve himself of a little of the black which clung to him; and soon afterwards, at dinner, they heard all that had been done to make the best of the existing state of affairs.
During tea the family party were again alarmed by the cry of “Fire!” of which they could see the glare through the window; but, on hastening to the farm-yard, it proved to be only one of the smouldering heaps which had burst out again, and a few pails of water soon extinguished the flames.