Three days later, therefore, when Frank was at school, and Mrs. Craven was in attendance at the house of a neighbor, at a meeting of the village sewing-circle, Mr. Craven slipped the pistol into his pocket and repaired to the back yard, where Pompey, as he anticipated, was stretched out in the sun, having a comfortable nap.
"Pompey," said Mr. Craven, in a low tone, "come here. Good dog."
Pompey walked up, and, grateful for attention, began to fawn upon the man who sought to lure him to death.
"Good dog! Fine fellow!" repeated Mr. Craven, stroking him.
Pompey seemed to be gratefully appreciative of the kindness.
Low and soft as were his tones—for he did not wish to attract any attention—Mr. Craven was overheard. Katy O'Grady's ears were sharp, and at the first sound she drew near to the window, where, herself unobserved, she was an eye and ear witness of Mr. Craven's blandishments.
"What is the ould villain doin' now?" she said to herself. "Is he going to thry p'isonin' him again?"
But no piece of meat was produced. Mr. Craven had other intentions.
"Come here, Pompey," said he, soothingly; "follow me, sir."
So saying, he rose and beckoned the dog to follow him.