At last he realizes what has happened. The red scamp has outdone him; with nose to the scent he rushes after....
The spoor leads into a ditch—and Box follows!
Now through a culvert under a road—and Box rushes at full speed into the culvert! It is lined with stones, and narrow—too narrow for the dog’s well-nourished body; he sticks fast, and can move neither forward nor back.
He has not even room left to bark; his ribs are gripped as in a vice; it is all he can do to manage a feeble, frightened whine.
All that evening he remains a prisoner in his stone cell; during the night the water rises and covers his paws—until at last, late next afternoon, his body has become so emaciated that he succeeds in squeezing backwards out of the trap.
Delighted, he runs home at once to the farm, where, however, he is subjected to the additional humiliation of being well scolded for his absence. How had his lordship enjoyed himself all that time? He had perhaps been making love in the next parish? Or had he been camping out with the fisherman’s yellow mongrel? Yes, he was a Don Juan, that’s what he was; a thoroughly wicked fellow!...
“Be careful!” he was threatened vaguely. His place was in the farmyard at night to keep guard!
Next day he was chained up.
One would think that Red would have been so frightened by this narrow escape that she would have avoided the farm and its surroundings for the future; but it was far from being the case—that sort of mishap had no effect on her at all.