“Poor—poor old T-Towser!” sobbed the black-haired girl. “He never done no harm to nobody. Poor old T-Towser!”
It would really have been a moving occasion had not Janice seen that the wailing of the girl was like a chorus in a Greek play—quite impersonal. She “wailed” very well indeed; but there wasn’t a sign of moisture in her hard black eyes. Janice was dreadfully sorry about the dog; but she noted the cut-and-dried nature of the proceedings in which the Trimmins’ boy and girl were engaged. The scene had been well rehearsed.
“You gotter pay for our dawg!” declared the red-haired boy. “We know who you be and we’ll send a constable after you if you don’t pay.”
“And we’ll throw glass in the road and bust your tires,” added the girl, viciously. “Poor old T-Towser!”
But Janice was examining Towser. There were two frayed ropes tied around the dog’s neck. Her sharp eyes saw the other ends of the broken ropes, each tied to a sapling on opposite sides of the road!
“You little murderers!” she said, sternly, rising to face them. “The poor old dog! He’s better off I know; but that was a cruel way to kill him. How could you?”
“What’s them little imps been doing?” demanded Mrs. Scattergood.
“They tied the dog in our path so that he could not get out of the way,” explained Janice, almost crying, herself. “We were bound to run him down; we couldn’t help it.”
“You’ll pay for our dawg!” blustered the red-haired boy again.
“Poor old T-Towser!” added his sister, doubtfully.