"Stop him! Stop him!"
"Oh, Amy!"
"If she falls!"
"I know I'm going to faint!"
"Don't you dare do it, Grace Ford!"
"Why doesn't that man keep his dog chained?"
These were only a few of the expressions that came from the lips of the girls as, horror-stricken, they watched the dog rush after poor Amy.
Never had she run so fast—not even during one of the basket ball games in which she had played, nor when they had races at the Sunday school picnic.
And, had it not been for a certain hired man, who, taking in the situation as he came on the run from the barn, acted promptly, Amy might have been severely injured. As it was the farmer's man, crossing the yard diagonally, was able to intercept the dog.
"Run to the left, Miss! Run to the left!" he cried. Then, leaping the low fence at a bound, he threw the pitchfork he carried at the dog with such skill that the handle crossed between the brute's legs and tripped it. Turning over and over in a series of somersaults, the dog's progress was sufficiently halted to enable the hired man to get to it. He took a firm grip in the collar of the dog and held on. Poor Amy stumbled a few steps farther and then Betty, recovering her scattered wits, cried out: