"I dunno, Mist'ess—on'y dat's what Trent say, an' what we all b'leebe."
Here Dorothy was startled by a wild, shrill yell from the boy, and turned quickly to see the cause of it. The sheep had discovered a broken place in the fence, and were trooping through it en masse; and if once out of the field, there was nothing to bar their way to Riverhead Beach.
Trent had already started in pursuit, but it was easy to see that many of the flock would be on the other side of the fence before he could stop them.
"Give me the basket," Dorothy said to the negro boy, "and go to help Trent. Then come to Ruth's after me."
She had scarcely spoken when he, giving her the basket, uttered another wild yell and was off, speeding after the wayward sheep. He was soon alongside Trent, who had stopped to put some bars across the opening, at which the few detained animals were now poking with eager noses. But these scattered quickly when Pashar, with renewed shouts, charged through them and vaulted the fence, to dash away on the other side with a speed that quickly carried him out of sight.
Pursuing her way alone, Dorothy soon reached the Salem road, which she crossed, climbing the stone walls on either side, and was again in a narrow strip of pasture land ending in a wood, where the stillness was broken only by the squirrels chattering overhead as though in fear of the intruder.
The sun sent its rays here and there across the paths that led in different directions, all of them carpeted with needles from the tall pine-trees standing amid the oaks and chestnuts; and the one Dorothy pursued brought her soon to the summit of a small hill, where it took a sharp turn, and then ran directly to a small, hut-like dwelling, about the door of which grew a honeysuckle vine.
In front of the house was what in the summer had been a flower-garden; everything about it was neat, and the tiny panes of glass in the unshuttered windows were spotlessly bright.
Dorothy did not wait to knock, but opened the door, and was within the living-room of the house, there being no hall. It was wide, and low-ceilinged, with clumsy beams set upright against the walls, bedimmed with age and smoke. Directly opposite the entrance was the open hearth, back of which a sluggish fire was burning; and kneeling in front of the logs was a girl of fourteen, working with a clumsy pair of bellows to blow it into a brisker flame.
She was so engrossed in her task as not to hear the door open, but started quickly as Dorothy said, "Good-day, Abbie; how is your granny this morning?"