‘We’d better run,’ said Hope, ’ ‘er we’ll git swore at.’

I looked about me in a panic for some place to hide the party, but Abe was coming fast and there was only time to pick up clubs and stand our ground.

‘Here!’ the man shouted as he pulled up along side of us, ’where ye goin’ with that dog?’

’Go ‘way,’ I answered, between anger and tears, lifting my club in a threatening manner.

He laughed then — a loud guffaw that rang in the near woods.

‘What’ll ye give me,’ he asked leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, ‘What’ll ye give me if I don’t kill him?’

I thought a moment.  Then I put my hand in my pocket and presently took out my jack-knife — that treasure Uncle Eb had bought for me — and looked at it fondly.

Then I offered it to him.

Again he laughed loudly.

‘Anything else?’ he demanded while Hope sat hugging the old dog that was licking her hands.

‘Got forty cents that I saved for the fair,’ said I promptly.

Abe backed his horse and turned in the road.

‘Wall boy,’ he said, ’Tell ’em I’ve gone home.’

Then his great voice shouted, ‘g’lang’ the lash of his whip sang in the air and off he went.

We were first to arrive at the schoolhouse, that morning, and when the other children came we had Fred on a comfortable bed of grass in a corner of the woodshed.  What with all the worry of that day I said my lessons poorly and went home with a load on my heart.  Tomorrow would be Saturday; how were we to get food and water to the dog?  They asked at home if we had seen old Fred and we both declared we had not — the first lie that ever laid its burden on my conscience.  We both saved all our bread and butter and doughnuts next day, but we had so many chores to do it was impossible to go to the schoolhouse with them.  So we agreed to steal away that night when all were asleep and take the food from its hiding place.

In the excitement of the day neither of us had eaten much.  They thought we were ill and sent us to bed early.  When Hope came into my room above stairs late in the evening we were both desperately hungry.  We looked at our store of doughnuts and bread and butter under my bed.  We counted it over.

‘Won’t you try one o’ the doughnuts,’ I whispered hoping that she would say yes so that I could try one also; for they did smell mighty good.

’’Twouldn’t be right,” said she regretfully.  ’There ain’t any more ’n he’ll want now.

’’Twouldn’t be right,” I repeated with a sigh as I looked longingly at one of the big doughnuts.  ‘Couldn’t bear t’ do it — could you?’

‘Don’t seem as if I could,’ she whispered, thoughtfully, her chin upon her hand.

Then she rose and went to the window.

‘O my! how dark it is!’ she whispered, looking out into the night.

‘Purty dark!’ I said, ’but you needn’t be ‘fraid.  I’ll take care o’ you.  If we should meet a bear I’ll growl right back at him — that’s what Uncle Eb tol’ me t’ do.  I’m awful stout — most a man now!  Can’t nuthin’ scare me.’