“It’s too bad,” she said.  “I know just how you feel, and yet can we go up to one of these places, perfect strangers, and ask them to keep us over night?  It doesn’t seem reasonable.”

“Anything is reasonable when you have to,” declared Mollie.  “I’ll ask,” she volunteered, starting toward the house.  “The worst they can say is ‘no,’ and maybe we can hire a team to drive to Rockford, if they can’t keep us.  I can drive!”

“Well, we’ll ask, anyhow,” agreed Betty, rather hopelessly.  She hardly knew what to do next.

As they advanced toward the House the savage barking of a dog was heard, and as they reached the front gate the beast came rushing down the walk, while behind him lumbered a farmer, shouting: 

“Here!  Come back!  Down, Nero!  Don’t mind him, ladies!” he added.  “He won’t hurt you!”

But the aspect, and the savage growls and barks, of the creature seemed to indicate differently, and the girls shrank back.  Betty, reaching in her bag, drew out the nearly emptied olive bottle for a weapon.

“Don’t hit him!  Don’t hit him!” cried the farmer.  “That will only make him worse!  Come back here, Nero!”

“Run, girls!  Run!” begged Amy.  “He’ll tear us to pieces!” and she turned and fled.

CHAPTER XII

AT AUNT SALLIE’S

Probably that was the most unwise course poor Amy could have taken.  Dogs, even the most savage, seldom come to a direct attack unless their prospective victim shows fear.  Then, like a horse that takes advantage of a timid driver, the creature advances boldly to the attack.

It was so in this case.  The other girls, not heeding Amy’s frantic appeal, stood still, but she ran back toward the road, her short skirt giving her a chance to exercise her speed.  The dog saw, and singling out her as the most favorable for his purposes, he leaped the fence in a great bound and rushed after the startled girl.

“Stop him!  Stop him!”

“Oh, Amy!”

“If she falls!”

“I know I’m going to faint!”

“Don’t you dare do it, Grace Ford!”

“Why doesn’t that man keep his dog chained?”

These were only a few of the expressions that came from the lips of the girls as, horror-stricken, they watched the dog rush after poor Amy.

Never had she run so fast—­not even during one of the basket ball games in which she had played, nor when they had races at the Sunday school picnic.

And, had it not been for a certain hired man, who, taking in the situation as he came on the run from the barn, acted promptly, Amy might have been severely injured.  As it was the farmer’s man, crossing the yard diagonally, was able to intercept the dog.

“Run to the left, Miss!  Run to the left!” he cried.  Then, leaping the low fence at a bound, he threw the pitchfork he carried at the dog with such skill that the handle crossed between the brute’s legs and tripped it.  Turning over and over in a series of somersaults, the dog’s progress was sufficiently halted to enable the hired man to get to it.  He took a firm grip in the collar of the dog and held on.  Poor Amy stumbled a few steps farther and then Betty, recovering her scattered wits, cried out: