"I wish you could," said I. "Why didn't you bring the book?"
"I will next time," said he, as he started off in another desperate attempt to corner the horse between the creek and the fence.
Nobody can tell how long this might have kept up, had not an immense black dog appeared, jumping over the fence from the wood-lot.
Phaeton drew back and looked about for a stone. Ned began tugging at one of those in his pockets, but couldn't get it out. Instead of coming at us, the dog made straight for Dobbin, soon reached him, seized the halter in his teeth, and brought him to a full stop, where he held him till we came up. It only took a minute or two to remove the blanket and halter, and turn Dobbin loose, while a few pats on the head and words of praise made a fast friend of the dog.
With these trappings over our arms, we turned our steps homeward. As we drew near the place where we had given Dobbin the rubbing down to keep him from taking cold, we saw a man looking over the fence at the wet wisps of hay in the road.
"I wonder if that man will expect us to pay for the hay," said Phaeton.
"It would be just like him," said Ned. "These farmers are an awful stingy set."
"I haven't got any money with me," said Phaeton; "but I know a short cut home."
Ned and I agreed that any shortening of the homeward journey would be desirable just now,—especially as we were very hungry.
He led the way, which required him to go back to the first cross-road, and we followed. It seemed to me that the short cut home was about twice as long as the road by which we had come, but as I also was oppressed with a sense of having no money with me, I sympathized with Phaeton, and made no objection. When I found that the short cut led through the Deep Hollow culvert, I confess to some vague fears that the boy I had chased into the culvert might dam up the water while we were in there, or play some other unpleasant trick on us, and I was glad when we were well through it with only wet feet and shoulders spattered by the drippings from the arch.