m back. He sulked, but took a few steps with me. Then he gave a
sudden wild prance into the air, headed round and started again. I could
not hold him, and on we went, a long run this time, until we came to the
bridge over the meadow brook. There the planks proved a new wonderment
to the calf, and he pulled up to smell them.

[Illustration: WHEN I LED LITTLE DAGON.]

Just then there appeared in the road ahead Theodora and "Aunt Olive
Witham," a working woman, who came every spring and fall to help
grandmother clean house and to do the year's spinning. Theodora had been
to the Corners that evening, to summon her.

"Oh, help me stop him!" I panted. "For pity's sake, catch hold of this
rope! He is running away with me! I can't hold him!"

Theodora edged across the bridge to bear a hand; but "Aunt Olive" knew
calves, or thought she did.

"Boss-boss-boss!" she crooned to the calf, and extending her hand,
walked straight to his head to get him by the ears. This may have been
the proper thing to do, but it did not work well that time. Little Dagon
suddenly looked up from his snuffing of the planks, and for some reason
his young eyes distrusted "Aunt Olive."

He bounded aside and began again to run. I was clinging fast to the
rope, and Aunt Olive and I collided. Aunt Olive, in truth, recoiled
nearly off the end of the bridge; I was jerked onward. Little Dagon had
learned that he could pull me, and I might as well have tried to hold a
locomotive. Theodora ran a few steps after us, trying loyally to succor
me. Aunt Olive stood endeavoring to recover her breath; ordinarily she
was energy personified, but for the instant stood gasping.

Beyond the meadow there was a hill, and going up that hill I came very
near mastering the calf; but after a hard tussle he gained the top in
spite of me and ran on, over descending ground, where the road passed
through woodland. We were now fully a mile and a half from home. Thus
far I had held on, but strength and breath were about gone. I was
panting hard, and actually crying from mortification.

Now, however, I saw a horse drawing a light wagon coming along the road.
A well-dressed elderly man was driving. I called out to him to aid me.
If I had known who he was, I might have been less unceremonious. "Oh,
help me stop him!" I cried. "Do help me stop him! I can't hold him!"

The stranger reined his horse half round across the road, and Little
Dagon ran full against the horse's fore legs an