there was the slow
munching of the cows in the adjoining orchard. Harry's heart rose
higher. No dog! not a sign of him! He put his hand to open the gate.
The latch stuck. He pushed harder; it flew open with a sharp click,
and he had not time to listen whether the sound had been heard or no,
when a dog's low growl solved the question.

He started back from the gate, which fell to with a loud crash. It was
all up now. Out rushed the dog, barking fiercely, and off rushed Harry
simultaneously. And naturally enough, too. It is not pleasant to be
mauled by a huge mastiff.

Had the idea struck him, he would have kept at a respectful distance,
and there waited in hopes that the baying of the dog would disturb the
inmates of the house, and that on their coming out to discover the
reason, he would gain his object of being let in.

But it is very doubtful whether a much older and, therefore, more
thoughtful person than Harry would have considered anything but the
fierceness of the dog, and the desirability of getting away as quickly,
and as far, as possible.

So Harry bolted down the lane at headlong speed, while the dog, seeing
the intruder depart, only uttered a few self-satisfied growls, and
returned to his mat in the porch, conscious that he had done his duty.
At the same moment, Mrs Valentine opened her window and put out a
night-capped head into the moonlight, and craning it all round, to see
what was the matter, and seeing nothing extraordinary, put it in again,
with a slight shiver.

Good soul! how little she dreamt of the apparently-trifling episode
enacted underneath her window! How gladly would she have welcomed the
runaway frightened boy! And how different that boy's after life would
have been had she but wakened sooner.

Meanwhile, Harry was stopping at the churchyard-gate. He longed to go
in. He hesitated. On another occasion, and in his mother's lifetime,
he would not have dared to go inside the wicket after dark. But now,
now he was going away, he knew not where! Out into the world, and that
seemed a very long way off to Harry. It was like another country.
Besides, what would hurt him while she was there, he asked himself?

So, without more ado, he passed through the creaking gate, up the
lime-tree avenue, heedless of the ghost-like shadows of the tombstones,
and the rustle of the fragrant leaves.

It was soon found, that little grassy mound in the corner by the
ivy-covered porch. And th