She climbed a wall, followed a brook for a short distance, and then struck into a shady lane. Pink followed her with her eyes, reverently admiring the dainty white dress that shone in the sunshine. "I should like to have one dress as pretty as that," she thought; "but then I have my pink," she added, loyally, and turned back to her work as the gleam of white vanished from her sight.
It was not half a minute after that her quick ear caught a cry. She sprang up and listened. This time it was a louder one, and so full of terror that, without stopping to think, Pink ran toward the sound with all her might. She was swift-footed, and she minded little a tumble over the wall and a scramble through the blackberry bushes that could bring her by a short-cut into the lane. One sharp, loud whistle brought the great dog Shepherd to her side, and when Laura's third cry, hoarse and sobbing, escaped her lips, she saw the pink dress, as it seemed to her, flying through the air at her as though the wind blew it forward. "It's the ugly cow!—oh, it's the ugly cow!" panted Pink.
"Help! help!" cried Laura, faintly, as she ran on, wild with fright.
Pink seized her firmly, for the angry cow, tossing her horns sullenly, was plunging too near for escape. Using all her strength, she pushed Laura flat behind a great rock, the only shelter at hand, and quick as a flash had seized a stick and turned with Shepherd to face the cow.
Brave Shepherd was not afraid of anything; his little mistress had never been afraid either. They divided between them the honor of routing the enemy, and Pink hardly knew herself how it had been done, as she threw a stone after the clumsy heels of the beast that Shepherd still chased with angry barks, and then half lifted, half led Laura to the nearest stile. Laura herself, between the fright and the running, was quite exhausted, and could only get home with Pink's patient help.
When Laura had been laid on a lounge, and revived with camphor, she began eagerly to describe her adventure. She told of Pink's rescuing her in such words of praise that all the child could do was to stand still, her cheeks getting all the time more and more of a pink.
"Why, you brave, brave child!" cried Laura's mother, taking her hand, as Laura went on.
"Oh, you noble little Pink!" chorussed the girls, kissing her with enthusiasm.
"But my name is not Pink," said the child, trying to cover her hot cheeks; "my name is only Dolly Brown, and it wasn't me; it was Shep."
"Yes, it was you too, little Pink—I mean Dolly Brown," cried Laura, as willful as ever now that the faintness was gone; "and you shall be my best friend forever after—so there! and I shall write to Florence, and Ethel, and all the rest, and tell them so this very night. You're a perfect hero-wine, and you've saved my life, just like a book."