Dot and Twaddles took one frightened look at the bellowing bull, and then dropped flat on the ground and began to squirm under the fence.
“Hurry, Meg,” urged Bobby. “Don’t stand there like that! Run!”
“I’m waiting for you,” quavered Meg.
“All right, hurry,” repeated Bobby.
He and Meg crawled under the fence and stood beside Twaddles and Dot. Then they looked over at the bull. He was not charging directly toward them, but at something else his angry red eyes had seen even before the children noticed it. Further down there was a gap in the fence where several rails were broken.
Meg shrieked in terror as she saw what the bull meant to do.
“Peter! Jud! Aunt Polly! Come quick!” she screamed, hardly knowing what she was crying.
“Coming!” called a big voice, and over the fence corner sprang Peter Apgar, a pitchfork in his hand. He had been gathering up the loose hay left along the edge of the field after the hayloader had gathered the main crop.
After Peter came Spotty, who met the bull just as that cross animal’s nose appeared at the gap in the fence. Indeed, Spotty met him so suddenly that both grunted.