Dick and Brownie | Page 4

evening light, and the melancholy
mooing of the cows, the good-night cluckings of the hens, the bleating
of the sheep, seemed to add to the desolateness. As Huldah and Dick
drew nearer, another and more terrifying sound arose, and that was the
barking of dogs. Dogs sprang up from everywhere, or so it seemed to
poor little Huldah, and, forgetting the coming night, her hunger and
everything else, she fled from the place, shrieking to Dick to follow
her.
Fortunately, Dick obeyed. Hunger and tiredness had taken most of his
spirit out of him, or he could never have resisted such an opportunity
for a fight; the enemy numbered six to one, too, not to speak of the
farmer, who was armed with a long whip, and two or three workmen,
who were well provided with sticks or pitchforks, and hungry, footsore
Dick did not at that moment feel equal to facing them all, and doing
himself justice. So, with an impudent flick of his tail he followed
Huldah, with the air of one who would not deign to fight mere
farm-dogs.
It was a very weary, dejected pair, though, that at last stopped running,
and summoned courage to stand and look about them once more; and
the fright had so shaken Huldah's courage that when presently she
caught sight of more smoking chimneys, and a group of little grey
stone houses, and other signs of life not far ahead of them, she felt
almost more sorry than glad.
When she came closer, and found the village street full of people, she

felt decidedly sorry, and wished wildly that she had gone any other way,
and so avoided them.
After the terrible heat of the day, men, women and children had all
turned out of their close, stifling cottages, and were sitting or lounging
about on doorstep or pavement, enjoying the coolness of the evening
air; and, having nothing to do and little to talk about, and not much to
look at, they naturally took a great interest in the odd-looking pair
which came suddenly into their midst. The dusty, shabby little girl and
the lanky yellow dog.
Huldah did not appreciate their interest. She felt ill with nervousness,
when she saw all the eyes turned towards her, and, she longed to be out
on the moor again,--anywhere, lost, hungry, lonely, tired, rather than
under this fire of eyes. She had wanted very much to try to sell one of
her baskets, that she might be able to buy some bread, but the staring
people daunted her. She felt she could not have stopped and spoken to
one of them, or have offered her wares, to have saved her life. It was all
she could do to drag her trembling limbs past them, and out of their
sight.
The end of the street was reached at last, though the cottages grew
more and more scattered, then stopped altogether, and the pair found
themselves alone once more. Poor Dick was by this time past doing
anything but plod wearily along, his tail down, his ears drooping, his
tongue hanging out. Huldah herself was in a half-dazed state, she
scarcely knew where she was, or what she was doing. She plodded on
and on mechanically, every step becoming harder, every yard a greater
tax on her. She had almost given up hope, and decided to lie down
under a hedge for the night, when her dim eyes were attracted by a light
which suddenly shone out on the darkness, down a little lane on her
right.
She paused in her walk, and stood gazing at it longingly. To the
exhausted, lonely, frightened child it seemed a beautiful sight. It was
like a friendly smile, a kindly welcome reaching out to her in her
hopelessness.

"I will go and ask them to help me," she thought, dully. "They won't
kill me; perhaps they'll give me a bit of bread for one of my baskets.
They won't call the p'lice so late as this."
Dick looked up at her and obediently followed. It was all one to him
where he went. He had no hopes and no fears, he was better off than
poor Huldah in that respect, but he roused to renewed interest and
expectation when his little mistress stopped before a cottage, and
walking timidly up the garden, knocked at the front door.
CHAPTER II.
A NIGHT SCARE.
Silence! Seconds passed, to Huldah they seemed endless, her heart,
which at first had beat furiously, quieted down until it seemed scarcely
to beat at all. Save for the good-night calls of the birds, and the sad
mooing of a cow in a field not far away, the silence remained unbroken.
"Perhaps I didn't knock loud enough," thought Huldah, "or whoever's
inside may be gone to