“Not if I know it! you can’t catch me!” barked Van.
“I’ll get you yet, you young rascal!” panted Betsy.
“My! but this is the best fun ever!”
“Just you wait till I get you. Then we’ll see!”
“I can tire her out and get the cat, too,” thought Van, as he gave vent to a perfect chorus of mad barks.
“I’ll get him if it takes all night,” said Betsy, gritting her teeth. She could no longer run, so she sat with her back against the tree, prepared to spend the night there if necessary.
Not so wise was Van. He continued barking and circling and tearing the night into shivers, while his adversary rested and got her second wind.
Now Betsy was up and at him again. Van was tiring a bit; he looked around for help. He gave up hope of getting the cat.
Not far away on the grass by the kitchen door sat Mary, enjoying the sweet air, and, I suspect, enjoying also the row that was going on under the maple tree. Mary was his friend; Mary would protect him. To her he flew.
But Betsy’s ideas were different. She knew that something must be done and done quickly, or her little Prince would become a nuisance and a disgrace to his royal name. She had tired him out in his excitement, and now the whip did its work, while Van stood silently, taking his punishment like a man and a gentleman. Silently he crawled into his basket until the smarting was over, and his little heart beat less violently and he could think. He had sinned in haste; now there was leisure for repentance. His dear mistress had been angry with him, and with good cause. He had certainly given her a chase, and a wild one, and he deserved his punishment. Moreover, she had not come to say good-night to him as usual. Queer!