“‘Heaven be praised for savin’ him!’”
LIFE on the Hill-Top moved serenely, and Van grew like a weed. His church-going did not make a saint of him, but ever, he grew dearer to the heart of Betsy. I suspect, even, that the occasional wrongdoings of the aristocratic little scapegrace only endeared him the more. His sins were all sins of a high-strung, spirited disposition, and he was so human in his fallings from grace and his funny repentances, that Mrs. Johns would look at him, laugh, and exclaim,
“You may say what you like. He certainly looks like a dog; but he isn’t. He’s ‘folks.’”
One day a man who worked on the Hospital grounds came to the kitchen door and said excitedly to Mary,
“Is Van in the house?”
“No, I’m thinkin’ he’s out. Is anything wrong?”
“There’s a mad dog loose. He’s just bitten Joe Wood’s collie, and has gone away down town. They’re after him with guns.”
“The saints preserve us! I hope the darlint isn’t in the way of him!”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him, but you’d better look after him, wherever he is.” And the man hurried off.
Mary dropped her work and ran out to the road. There, trotting calmly home in an opposite direction from that which the mad dog had taken, came Van, quite unconscious of any trouble that might be brewing for him.