er's boy came
running up and warned them on no account to venture into the road, as
Hunt's dog--that's the butcher, you know--I mean Hunt is--had gone
raving mad, and was loose upon the streets. Of course we were all most
horribly alarmed, and wanted to know whether anybody had been bitten;
but the boy was off like a shot, and two minutes afterwards the
wretched dog itself came tearing past, as mad as a dog could be, its
jaws a mass of foam, and snapping right and left. As soon as ever it
was safe our friends took the opportunity of escaping--of course in
the opposite direction; and then a crowd of villagers came along in
pursuit, but not knowing which turning to take till some man or other
told them that the dog had gone up the lane. Then imagine my terror!
For I felt perfectly convinced that you'd be coming home that way, as
the road was hot and dusty, and I know how fond you are of lanes and
fields. Oh, my dear, I can't get over it even now. How was it you
chose the road?"

For a moment Austin did not speak. Then he said very slowly:

"I don't know how to tell you. Of course I _could_ tell you easily
enough, but I don't think you'd understand. Auntie, I intended to come
home by the lane. Twice or three times I tried to cross the stile into
the meadows, and each time I was prevented. Something stopped me.
Something pushed me back. Naturally I wanted to come by the
meadow--the road was horrid--and I wanted to stroll along on the grass
and enjoy myself by the river. But there it was--I couldn't do it. So
I gave up trying, and came by the road after all."

"What _do_ you mean, Austin?" asked Aunt Charlotte. "I never heard
such a thing in my life. What was it that pushed you back?"

"I don't know," replied the boy deliberately. "I only know that
something did. And as the lane is very narrow, and enclosed by
excessively steep banks, the chances are that I should have met the
dog in it, and that the dog would have bitten me and given me
hydrophobia. And now you know as much as I do myself."

"I can't tell what to think, I'm sure," said Aunt Charlotte. "Anyhow,
it's most providential that you escaped, but as for your being
prevented, as you say--as for anything pushing you back--why, my dear,
of course that was only your fancy. What else could it have been? I'm
far too practical to believe in presentiments, and warnings, and
nonsense of that sort. I'd as soon believe in table-rapping. No, my
dear; I thank God you've co