which she had played, nor when they had races at the Sunday
school picnic.

And, had it not been for a certain hired man, who, taking in the
situation as he came on the run from the barn, acted promptly, Amy might
have been severely injured. As it was the farmer's man, crossing the yard
diagonally, was able to intercept the dog.

"Run to the left, Miss! Run to the left!" he cried. Then, leaping the low
fence at a bound, he threw the pitchfork he carried at the dog with such
skill that the handle crossed between the brute's legs and tripped it.
Turning over and over in a series of somersaults, the dog's progress was
sufficiently halted to enable the hired man to get to it. He took a firm
grip in the collar of the dog and held on. Poor Amy stumbled a few steps
farther and then Betty, recovering her scattered wits, cried out:

"All right, Amy! All right! You're in no danger!"

And Amy sank to the ground while her chums rushed toward her.

"Hold him, Zeke! Hold him!" cried the farmer, as he came lumbering up.
"Hold on to him!"

"That's what I'm doin'!" responded the hired man.

"Is th' gal hurted? Land sakes, I never knew Nero to act so!" went on the
farmer apologetically. "He must have been teased by some of th' boys. Be
you hurted, Miss?"

Pale and trembling, Amy arose. But it was very evident that she had
suffered no serious harm, for the dog had not reached her, and she had
simply collapsed on the grass, rather than fallen.

The dog, choking and growling, was firmly held by the hired man, who
seemed to have no fear of him.

"I'm awfully sorry," said the farmer, contritely. "I never knew him to
act like that."

"Some one has tied a lot of burrs on his tail," called out the hired man.
"That's what set him off."

"I thought so. Well, clean 'em off, and he'll behave. Poor old Nero!"

Even now the dog was quieting down, and as the hired man removed the
irritating cause of the beast's anger it became even gentle, whining as
though to offer excuses.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am," went on the farmer. "You're strangers
around here, I take it."

"Yes," said Betty, "and we lost our way. We're going to Rockford. We must
be there to-night."

"Rockford?"

"Yes, my aunt lives there."

"And who might your aunt be?"

"Mrs. Palmer."

"Bill Palmer's wife?"

"Yes, that's Uncle Will I guess," and Betty laughed.

"Pshaw now! You don't say so! Why, I know Bill well."

The farmer's wife came bustling out.