"Up wid 'ee, Biddy! Quick—oh, quick!" he called to her.
His white face and his piercing cry made Biddy obey him without a thought of asking why. She clutched at the boxes, and scrambled up, and Charley helped her by his hands and his shoulders. The boxes did not stand even, and they tottered as she climbed, but Charley leaned his little body against them, and stretched out his arms, and held them steady. Biddy was not a moment too quick. As she threw herself forward across the topmost box, the shuffle and clatter of many feet and the shouting and screaming seemed to be all around them. Biddy could not look down. She was so frightened, and had climbed so fast, she could hardly breathe, but she heard a snapping and crunching of jaws and a hoarse rattling breath beneath her. She was not able to think; she only clung with all her might, so dizzy that it seemed as if she and the boxes were swimming. Several shots were fired, and it seemed as if there were more noise and confusion than before. Then some one said,
"Poor children!"
Biddy felt herself lifted down. She was shaking all over. There were a great many people around her, but they didn't make so much noise now. She heard some one saying,
"It's Griffith's blood-hound—a good dog enough, too, if those idle scamps had let him alone. But it wouldn't stand no nonsense—that sort of dog never does. By heavens! it snapped that great chain like a pipe stem, and was after them like a tiger in no time!"
Then another voice said: "Did you see the little boy? He's almost the smallest little fellow you ever saw. But he was a hero. He saved the little girl's life; he gave up his own for it. I saw and heard the whole thing from the window overhead here, and I'll never see a braver deed done. I tell you, he's a hero; his father can be proud of him."
"His father!" said another and rougher voice. "That boy hain't got anyone belongin' to him. Take a look at his clothes—what's left of 'em from that brute's teeth! He's never had too much to eat nor too much to wear, you kin just bet yer life on that. But you're right, mister; he was a hero, an' no' mistake. He held as still as a mouse, an' with a grip like death, while that durned critter chawed up his legs."
Biddy was beginning to understand; so were the other children, the little boys and girls who had known and laughed at and nicknamed Charley all his silent, bashful life.
They stood around, gazing horror-struck at the dead hound that lay just beyond the curb-stone, and at Charley, lying all mangled and perfectly still in the arms of a policeman. A cart with cushions in it backed up to the curb, and just as the policeman was trying to move Charley so as to lay him on the cushions, he moaned and opened his eyes. He looked at the children. They saw this look, and crowded up to the cart, sobbing.
One of them exclaimed, "Oh, Charley, we'll never call ye 'Polly' no more!"