“Oh, mercy!” cried Natalie, shrinking back.
“Good doggie! Good old fellow!” called Mrs. Bonnell, coming to a standstill, while the girls huddled behind her. “Nice old chap!”
“He isn’t at all nice!” declared Alice. “How can you say such things?”
“That’s always the way to talk to barking dogs,” insisted the Guardian. “Don’t let them see that you fear them.”
“No—don’t!” laughed Natalie, as she saw the fear-huddled group. “We are a living monument to—bravery!”
“Maybe his bark is worse than his bite,” whispered Mabel.
The dog did not seem disposed to retreat. He had run out into the road, and disputed their progress, in spite of the many soothing “good-doggie!” and “Nice old fellow!” verbal sops that Mrs. Bonnell threw to him.
“Maybe he’s hungry!” suggested Marie. “Wait a minute!”
She began exploring the lunch basket she carried and presently threw something to the cur. He made a spring for it, and then bolted into the yard.
“Why, Natalie Fuller!” cried Alice aghast. “That was one of our best chicken sandwiches!”