Ned turned and trudged down the footpath. But, as he reached the gate, he heard a commotion behind him. He turned just in time to face a big, savage-looking bulldog that was about to fly at his leg. Ned raised his foot and planted it fair and square on the snarling animal's mouth.
The dog fled with a yelp of pain. Ned followed it with his eyes.
"I'll bet that cur has fared better than I have for the last twenty-four hours," he muttered as he once more began his weary trudging along the dusty highroad.
[CHAPTER XXII.]
SOME ADVENTURES BY THE WAY.
By noon his hunger was positively ravenous. Yet he did not like to risk another rebuff by asking for something to eat at any of the thrifty-looking farmhouses he passed.
Of course, Ned could have represented himself as one of Uncle Sam's sailors, but it was, somehow, repugnant to him—the idea of asking for food and urging, as an excuse for the petition, the uniform he was entitled to wear and the flag he served under.
All at once as he rounded a turn in the road he came upon a scene that quickened his hunger tenfold. A group of men, women and children were bivouacked under a tree enjoying the shade, and were evidently about to enjoy a picnic lunch. Two or three buggies, and an aged carry-all stood near at hand. Ned, with averted gaze, was hurrying by, when a voice hailed him.