Hope and I heard what Abe was coming to do, and when the men had gone to the fields, that summer morning, we lifted Fred into the little wagon in which he had once drawn me and starting back of the barn stole away with him through the deep grass of the meadow until we came out upon the highroad far below.

We had planned to take him to school and make him a nest in the woodshed where he could share our luncheon and be out of the way of peril.

After a good deal of difficulty and heavy pulling we got to the road at last.

The old dog, now blind and helpless, sat contentedly in the wagon while its wheels creaked and groaned beneath him.

We had gone but a short way in the road when we heard the red bridge roar under rushing wheels and the familiar yell of Abe.
'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.