“Yes, but we didn’t bring anything to put it in,” Roy objected.
“It doesn’t matter. They’ll lend us a can, maybe. Come on.”
So they trudged up the long lane and knocked on the front door. Receiving no answer after a decent interval of waiting, they proceeded around back. At a little distance stood a big barn. Near-by was a well with a number of big milk cans beside it.
“There you are,” said Chub. “Maybe they’ll lend us one of those. Come on.”
The back door was open and from the little covered porch they had a glimpse of a very clean and tidy kitchen. Chub knocked. There was no answer.
“All out, it seems,” he muttered. He knocked again and then raised his voice. “Any one at home?” he asked.
There was. A big, rough-coated yellow dog bounded across the yard, the hair along his back bristling unpleasantly. His onslaught was so sudden and fierce that Dick, who saw him first, was the first one inside the door. But Chub and Roy were tied for second place, and the dog—well, the dog would have made a good third if Roy hadn’t had the presence of mind to slam the door a few inches in front of his nose.
“I say!” gasped Chub. “Did you see him? Isn’t he an ugly brute?”
“He certainly is,” agreed Dick, with an uneasy laugh. “Hear him, will you?”
The dog was growling savagely and sniffing along the bottom of the door.