It was late in the afternoon when Pompey went up town on an errand for Judge Hildreth.  The street was full of men and horses hurrying to and fro but Pompey paid them but little attention.  He was busy with his Lord.

Hark!  What was that?  The sound of a horse’s hoofs ringing with a sharp, metallic clatter upon the paved street while children screamed and men turned white faces towards the sound and hurriedly sought the sidewalk.

On they came, the horse and his rider.  Louis pale as death, Polyphemus mad with sudden fear and his own ungovernable temper.  The bit was between his teeth, his iron-shod feet were thrown out in vengeful fury.

Pompey sprang forward.

“You can’t stop him!” shouted the men.  “It would be certain death!” But just beyond the street took a sharp turn to the right and a deep chasm, where extensive excavations for a sewer were being made, yawned hungrily.

The horse plunged and reared.  Pompey had caught hold of the reins and was clinging to them with all his might.

* * * * *

Mrs. Hildreth leaned over her son in an agony of fear.  Louis was her idol.  He opened his eyes wearily.  His cheeks were as white as the pillow.

“Oh, Louis!” she wailed, “I knew that wretched horse would bring you to your death!”

“I am not dead yet,” he said, with a shadow of his old mocking smile, “although I have succeeded in making a fool of myself.  How is Pompey?”

“Pompey!” ejaculated his mother.  “I never thought of any one but you.”

* * * * *

Evadne stood in Dyce’s little room, beside the bed with its gay patchwork cover.  The iron-shod hoofs had done their cruel work only too well!

“Pompey,” she said wistfully, “dear Pompey, is the pain terrible to bear?”

The faithful eyes looked up at her, the brave lips tried to smile.  “De Lord Jesus is a powerful help in de time of trubble, Miss ’Vadney; I’se leanin’ on his arm.”

Evadne repeated, as well as she could for tears. “’Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God; I will strengthen thee, yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’”

And Pompey answered with joyous assurance,—­“’Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.’”

“The Jedge hez been here,” said Dyce with mournful pride.  “He say he’ll never find any one like Pompey.  He say it wuz de braves’ ting he ever knowed any one to do.  He jest cry like a chile, de Jedge did; he say he never ‘spect to find sech a faithful frien’ again.”

“De Jedge is powerful kind, Missy.  He say he’ll look out fer Dyce ez long ez he live,” the husband’s voice broke,

“I don’t care nuthin’ ’bout dat!” and Dyce turned away with a choking sob; “but I’se proud to hev him see what kind of a man you is.”