“Oh! what’s the matter?” cried Dorothy.
“Keep away from that dog!” shrieked Tavia, stopping short and seizing both Dorothy and Jennie. “He’s mad!”
The dog was blindly running, this way and that, the foam dripping from his clashing jaws. He was, indeed, a most fearful sight. He had no real intention in his savage charges, for a beast so afflicted with rabies loses eyesight as well as sense; but suddenly he bounded directly for the three girls.
They all shrieked in alarm, even Dorothy. Yet the latter the better held her self-possession than the others. She heard Jennie scream: “Oh, Ned!” while Tavia cried: “Oh, Nat!”
The young men were at the spot in a moment. Nat had picked up a croquet mallet and one good blow laid the poor dog out—harmless forever more.
Tavia had seized the rescuer’s arm, Jennie was clinging to Ned. Dorothy, awake at last to the facts of the situation, made a great discovery—and almost laughed, serious as the peril had been.
“I believe I know which is which now,” she thought, forgetting her alarm.
SUDDENLY HE BOUNDED DIRECTLY FOR THE THREE GIRLS.
Dorothy Dale’s Engagement